THE 

WILLIAM  R.  PERKINS 

LIBRARY 

OF 
DUKE  UNIVERSITY 


m^ 


Old  World  Series* 


THE  SONNETS 

OF 

MICHAEL  ANGELO 


I 


THOU  *RT  dead  of  dying,  and  art  made  divine  ; 
Nor  need^st  tboufear  to  change  or  life  or  will; 

Wherefore  my  soul  well-nigh  doth  envy  thine. 
Fortune  and  time  across  thy  threshold  still 

Shall  dare  not  pass,  the  which  mid  us  below 

'Bring  doubtful  jqyance  blent  with  certain  ill. 
Clouds  are  there  none  to  dim  for  thee  heaven's  glow; 

The  measured  hours  compel  not  thee  at  all  ; 

Chance  or  necessity  thou  canst  not  know. 
Thy  splendour  wanes  not  when  our  night  doth  fall, 

Nor  waxes  with  day*s  light  however  clear, 

Nor  when  our  suns  the  season's  warmth  recall. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO: 

On  His  Father's  Death. 


THE  SONNETS  OF  MICHAEL 
ANGELO  BUONARROTI 

TRANSLATED  BV 
JOHN  ADDINOTON  SYMOMBS 


BarUand,  Maine 

i^dcccci 


This  Second  Edition  on 
y^an  G elder  pap:r  con- 
sists of  92  s  copies. 


è'^^3D(^ 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Proem vii 

Sonnets    3 

Notes 91 

Appendices loi 


PROEM. 
THE  PHILOSOPHIC  FLIGHT. 

Poi  che  spiegate. 

NOW  that  these  wings  to  speed  my  wish  ascend, 
The  more  I  feel  vast  air  beneath  my  feet, 
The  more  totcard  boundless  air  on  pinions  fleet. 
Spurning  the  earth,  soaring  to  heaven,  I  tend  : 

Nor  makes  them  stoop  their  flight  the  direful  end 
Of  Dcedal  '5  son  ;  but  upward  still  they  beat  : — 
IVhat  life  the  while  with  my  life  can  compete. 
Though  dead  to  earth  at  last  I  shall  descend Ì 

My  own  heart's  voice  in  the  void  air  I  hear  : 

IVhere  wilt  thou  bear  me,  O  rash  man  ?    Recall 
Thy  daring  will!     This  boldness  waits  on  fear  ! 

Dread  not,  I  answer,  that  tremendous  fall  : 

Strike  through  the  clouds,  and  smtle  when  death  is 

near, 
If  death  so  glorious  be  our  doom  at  all! 

GIORDANO   BRUNO  (?) 

(/.  À.  Symonds.) 


THE  SONNETS 

OF 

MICHAEL  ANGELO 


^^ 


Mr.  Symonds  originally  printed  his 
version  of  The  Sonnets  of  Michael 
Angelo  in  connexion  with  those  of 
Tommaso  Campanella,  (8vo,  London, 
1878,)  and  placed  a  Greek  motto  on  the 
title-page  : 

Xpiffeuv  xà'^Keia 

The  introduction  to  this  edition  having 
become  superseded  to  a  large  extent  by 
his  later  and  more  adequate  handling  of 
the  subject,  is  not  here  included.  The 
reader  who  desires  to  study  the  freshest 
presentation  of  the  Sonnets,  would  there- 
fore do  well  to  consult  Symonds'  Life 
of  Michelangelo  Bu^marroti,  (2  vols. 
8vo,  London,  1893.) 

Advantage  has  been  had  of  the  Life 
to  collect  and  include  in  The  Old  World 
Edition,  those  textual  revisions  in  the 
translation  scattered  through  its  pages; 
changes  that  had  Mr.  Symonds  lived,  he 
would  no  doubt,  himself,  put  forth  in 
due  season. 


ON  DANTE  ALIGHIERI. 

Dal  del  discese. 

FROM  heaven  his  spirit  came,  and  robed  in  clay, 
The  realms  of  justice  and  of  mercy  trod  : 
Then  rose  a  living  man  to  gaze  on  God, 
That  he  might  make  the  truth  as  clear  as  day. 

For  that  pure  star,  that  brightened  with  his  ray 
The  undeserving  nest  where  I  was  born, 
The  whole  wide  world  would  be  a  prize  to  scorn  ; 
None  but  his  Maker  can  due  guerdon  pay. 

I  speak  of  Dante,  whose  high  work  remains 

Unknown,  unhonoured  by  that  thankless  brood, 
Who  only  to  just  men  deny  their  wage. 

Were  I  but  he  I     Bom  for  like  lingering  pains. 
Against  his  exile  coupled  with  his  good 
I'd  gladly  change  the  world's  best  heritage  I 


N 


II. 

ON  DANTE  ALIGHIERI. 

Quante  dirne  si  de', 
o  tongue  can  tell  of  him  what  should  be  told, 


For  on  blind  eyes  his  splendour  shines  too 
strong  ; 
Twere  easier  to  blame  those  who  wrought  him 

wrong, 
Than  sound  his  least  praise  with  a  mouth  of  gold. 

He  to  explore  the  place  of  pain  was  bold, 

Then  soared  to  God,  to  teach  our  souls  by  song; 
The  gates  heaven  oped  to  bear  his  feet  along, 
Against  his  just  desire  his  country  rolled. 

Thankless  I  call  her,  and  to  her  own  pain 

The  nurse  of  fell  mischance  ;  for  sign  take  this, 
That  ever  to  the  best  she  deals  more  scorn  : 

Among  a  thousand  proofs  let  one  remain  ; 

Though  ne'er  was  fortune  more  unjust  than  his, 
His  equal  or  his  better  ne'er  was  bom. 


M 


in. 

TO  POPE  JULIUS  II. 

Signor,  se  vero  è. 
Y  Lord  I  if  ever  ancient  saw  spake  sooth, 


Hear  this  which  saith  :  Who  can,  doth  never  will. 
Lo!   thou  hast  lent  thine  ear  to  fables  still. 
Rewarding  those  who  hate  the  name  of  truth. 

I  am  thy  drudge  and  have  been  from  my  youth  — 
Thine,  like  the  rays  which  the  sun's  circle  fill  ; 
Yet  of  my  dear  time's  waste  thou  think'st  no  ill  : 
The  more  I  toil,  the  less  I  move  thy  ruth. 

Once  'twas  my  hope  to  raise  me  by  thy  height; 
But  'tis  the  balance  and  the  powerful  sword 
Of  Justice,  not  false  Echo,  that  we  need. 

Heaven,  as  it  seems,  plants  virtue  in  despite 
Here  on  the  earth,  if  this  be  our  reward  — 
To  seek  for  fruit  on  trees  too  dry  to  breed. 


» 


IV. 

ON   ROME   IN   THE   PONTIFICATE 
OF   JULIUS   II. 

Qua  si  fa  elmi. 

HERE  helms  and  swords  are  made  of  chalices: 
The  blood  of  Christ  is  sold  so  much  the  quart  : 
His  cross  and  thorns  are  spears  and  shields  ;  and 

short 
Must  be  the  time  ere  even  His  patience  cease. 

Nay  let  Him  come  no  more  to  raise  the  fees 
Of  this  foul  sacrilege  beyond  report  1 
For  Rome  still  flays  and  sells  Him  at  the  court, 
"Where  paths  are  closed  to  virtue's  fair  increase. 

Now  were  fit  time  for  me  to  scrape  a  treasure  1 

Seeing  that  work  and  gain  are  gone  ;  while  he 
Who  wears  the  robe,  is  my  Medusa  still. 

God  welcomes  poverty  perchance  with  pleasure: 
But  of  that  better  life  what  hope  have  we, 
When  the  blessed  banner  leads  to  nought  but  ill  ? 


ON  THE   PAINTING  OF  THE 
SISTINE   CHAPEL. 


TO  GIOVANNI  DA   PISTOJA. 
I'  ho  già  fatto  un  gozzo, 
've  grown  a  goitre  by  dwelling  in  this  den- 


1     As  cats  from  stagnant  streams  in  Lombardy, 

Or  in  what  other  land  they  hap  to  be  — 

Which  drives  the  belly  close  beneath  the  chin  : 
My  beard  turns  up  to  heaven  ;  my  nape  falls  in, 

Fixed  on  my  spine  :  my  breast-bone  visibly 

Grows  like  a  harp  :  a  rich  embroidery 

Bedews  my  face  from  brush-drops  thick  and  thin. 
My  loins  into  my  paunch  like  levers  grind  : 

My  buttock  like  a  crupper  bears  my  weight; 

My  feet  unguided  wander  to  and  fro; 
In  front  my  skin  grows  loose  and  long;  behind 

By  bending  it  becomes  more  taut  and  straight  ; 

Crosswise  I  strain  me  like  a  Syrian  bow: 
Whence  false  and  quaint,  I  know, 

Must  be  the  fruit  of  squinting  brain  and  eye; 

For  ill  can  aim  the  gun  that  bends  awry. 
Come  then,  Giovanni,  try 

To  succour  my  dead  pictures  and  my  fame  ; 

Since  foul  I  fare  and  painting  is  my  shame. 


VI. 

INVECTIVE  AGAINST  THE 
PEOPLE  OF  PISTOJA. 

r  1'  ho,  rostra  mercè. 

I've  gotten  it,  thanks  to  your  courtesy  ; 
And  I  have  read  it  twenty  times  or  so: 
Thus  much  may  your  sharp  snarling  profit  you, 
As  food  our  flesh  filled  to  satiety. 

After  I  left  you,  I  could  plainly  see 

How  Cain  was  of  your  ancestors  :  I  know 
You  do  not  shame  his  lineage,  for  lo, 
Your  brother's  good  still  seems  your  injury. 

Envious  you  are,  and  proud,  and  foes  to  heaven; 

Love  of  your  neighbour  still  you  loathe  and  hate, 
And  only  seek  what  must  your  ruin  be. 

If  to  Pistoja  Dante's  curse  was  given, 

Bear  that  in  mind  I     Enough  !     But  if  you  prate 
Praises  of  Florence,  'tis  to  wheedle  me. 

A  priceless  jewel  she  : 
Doubtless  :  but  this  you  cannot  understand  : 
For  pigmy  virtue  grasps  not  aught  so  grand. 


VII. 

TO  LUIGI  DEL  RICCIO. 
Nel  dolce  d'  una. 

IT  happens  that  the  sweet  nnfathomed  sea 
Of  seeming  courtesy  sometimes  doth  hide 
Offence  to  life  and  honour.     This  descried, 
I  hold  less  dear  the  health  restored  to  me. 

He  who  lends  wings  of  hope,  while  secretly 

He  spreads  a  traitorous  snare  by  the  wayside, 
Hath  dulled  the  flame  of  love,  and  mortified»» 
Friendship  where  friendship  burns  most  fervently. 

Keep  then,  my  dear  Luigi,  clear  and  pure, 
That  ancient  love  to  which  my  life  I  owe, 
That  neither  wind  nor  storm  its  calm  may  mar. 

For  wrath  and  pain  our  gratitude  obscure  ; 
And  if  the  truest  truth  of  love  I  know, 
One  pang  outweighs  a  thousand  pleasures  far. 


vili. 

AFTER  THE  DEATH  OF 
CECCHINO  BRACCI. 

TO    LUIGI    DEL   RICCIO. 
A  pena  prima. 

SCARCE  had  I  seen  for  the  first  time  his  eyes, 
Which  to  your  living  eyes  were  life  and  light, 
When,  closed  at  last  in  death's  injurious  night, 
He  opened  them  on  God  in  Paradise. 

I  know  it  and  I  weep —  too  late  made  wise  : 

Yet  was  the  fault  not  mine  ;  for  death's  fell  spite 
Robbed  my  desire  of  that  supreme  delight 
Which  in  your  better  memory  never  dies. 

Therefore,  Luigi,  if  the  task  be  mine 

To  make  unique  Cecchino  smile  in  stone 
For  ever,  now  that  earth  hath  made  him  dim, 

If  the  beloved  within  the  lover  shine, 

Since  art  without  him  cannot  work  alone, 
You  must  I  carve  to  tell  the  world  of  him. 


1 


J 


IX. 

THANKS   FOR  A   GIFT. 

Al  zucchero,  alla  mula. 

THE  sugar,  candles,  and  the  saddled  mule, 
Together  with  your  cask  of  malvoisie, 
So  far  exceed  all  my  necessity 
That  Michael  and  not  I  my  debt  must  rule. 

In  such  a  glassy  calm  the  breezes  fool 

My  sinking  sails,  so  that  amid  the  sea 

My  bark  hath  missed  her  way,  and  seems  to  be 

A  wisp  of  straw  whirled  on  a  weltering  pool. 

To  yield  thee  gift  for  gift  and  grace  for  grace, 
For  food  and  drink  and  carriage  to  and  fro, 
For  all  my  need  in  every  time  and  place, 

O  my  dear  Lord,  matched  with  the  much  I  owe, 
All  that  I  am  were  no  real  recompense  : 
Paying  a  debt  is  not  munificence. 


II 


X. 

ON  HIS   MISTRESS    FAUSTINA   MANCINA. 

TO    GANDOLFO    PORRINO. 
La  muova  alta  beltà. 

THAT  new  transcendent  fair  who  seems  to  be 
Peerless  in  heaven  as  in  this  world  of  woe, 
(The  common  folk,  too  blind  her  worth  to  know 
And  worship,  called  her  Left  Arm  wantonly), 

Was  made,  full  well  I  know,  for  only  thee  : 

Nor  could  I  carve  or  paint  the  glorious  show 
Of  that  fair  face  :  to  life  thou  needs  must  go, 
To  gain  the  favour  thou  dost  crave  of  me. 

If  like  the  sun  each  star  of  heaven  outshining, 

She  conquers  and  outsoars  our  soaring  thought, 
This  bids  thee  rate  her  worth  at  its  real  price. 

Therefore  to  satisfy  thy  ceaseless  pining, 

Once  more  in  heaven  hath  God  her  beauty 

wrought  : 
God  and  not  I  can  people  Paradise. 


12 


XI. 

ON  THE   LIVES    OF   THE   PAINTERS. 

TO    GIORGIO   VASARI. 
Se  con  lo  stile. 

WITH  pencil  and  with  palette  hitherto 
You  made  your  art  high  Nature's  paragon; 
Nay  more,  from  nature  her  own  prize  you  won, 
Making  what  she  made  fair  more  fair  to  view. 

Now  that  your  learned  hand  with  labour  new 
Of  pen  and  ink  a  worthier  work  hath  done, 
What  erst  you  lacked,  what  still  remained  her  own, 
The  power  of  giving  life,  is  gained  for  you. 

If  men  in  any  age  with  Nature  vied 

In  beauteous  workmanship,  they  had  to  yield 
When  to  the  fated  end  years  brought  their  name. 

You,  re-illumining  memories  that  died. 

In  spite  of  Time  and  Nature  have  revealed 
For  the^m  and  for  yourself  eternal  fame. 


13 


XII. 
A  MATCHLESS   COURTESY. 

TO  VITTORIA  COLONNA. 

Felice  spirto. 

BLEST  Spirit,  who  with  loving  tenderness 
Quickenest  my  heart,  so  old  and  near  to  die, 
Who  'mid  thy  joys  on  me  dost  bend  an  eye 
Though  many  nobler  men  around  thee  press  ! 

As  thou  wert  erewhile  wont  my  sight  to  bless, 
So  to  console  my  mind  thou  now  dost  fly; 
Hope  therefore  stills  the  pangs  of  memory, 
Which,  coupled  with  desire,  my  soul  distress. 

So  finding  in  thee  grace  to  plead  for  me  — 

Thy  thoughts  for  me  sunk  in  so  sad  a  case  — 
He  who  now  writes  returns  thee  thanks  for  these. 

Lo  I  it  were  foul  and  monstrous  usury 

To  send  thee  ugliest  paintings  in  the  place 
Of  thy  fair  spirit's  living  phantasies. 


XIII. 
BRAZEN  GIFTS   FOR   GOLDEN. 

TO   VITTORIA   COLONNA. 
Per  esser  manco  almen. 

SEEKING  at  least  to  be  not  all  unfit 
For  thy  sublime  and  boundless  courtesy, 
My  lowly  thoughts  at  first  were  fain  to  try 
What  they  could  yield  for  grace  so  infinite. 

But  now  I  know  my  unassisted  wit 

Is  all  too  weak  to  make  me  soar  so  high  ; 
For  pardon,  lady,  for  this  fault  I  cry, 
And  wiser  still  I  grow  remembering  it. 

Yea,  well  I  see  what  folly  'twere  to  think 

That  largess  dropped  from  thee  like  dews  from 

heaven 
Could  e'er  be  paid  by  work  so  frail  as  mine  I 

To  nothingness  my  art  and  talent  sink  ; 

He  fails  who  from  his  mortal  stores  hath  given 
A  thousandfold  to  match  one  gift  divine. 


w 


XIV. 

FIRST  RBADING. 

THE   MODEL  AND   THE   STATUE. 

TO   VITTORIA   COLONNA. 
Da  che  concetto. 

HEN  divine  Art  conceives  a  form  and  face, 


She  bids  the  craftsman  for  his  first  essay 
To  shape  a  simple  model  in  mere  clay  : 
This  is  the  earliest  birth  of  Art's  embrace. 

From  the  live  marble  in  the  second  place 
His  mallet  brings  into  the  light  of  day 
A  thing  so  beautiful  that  who  can  say 
When  time  shall  conquer  that  immortal  grace  .> 

Thus  my  own  model  I  was  born  to  be  — 
The  model  of  that  nobler  self,  whereto 
Schooled  by  your  pity,  lady,  I  shall  grow. 

Each  overplus  and  each  deficiency 

You  will  make  good.     What  penance  then  is  due 
For  my  fierce  heat,  chastened  and  taught  by  you  ? 


i6 


XIV. 

SBCOND   RBADING. 

THE  MODEL  AND   THE    STATUE. 

TO    VITTORIA    COLONNA. 
Se  ben  concetto. 

WHEN  that  which  is  divine  in  ns  doth  try 
To  shape  a  face,  both  brain  and  hand  unite 
To  give,  from  a  mere  model  frail  and  slight, 
Life  to  the  stone  by  Art's  free  energy. 

Thus  too  before  the  painter  dares  to  ply 

Paint-brush  or  canvas,  he  is  wont  to  write 
Sketches  on  scraps  of  paper,  and  invite 
Wise  minds  to  judge  his  figured  history. 

So,  born  a  model  rude  and  mean  to  be 
Of  my  poor  self,  I  gain  a  nobler  birth, 
Lady,  from  you,  you  fountain  of  all  worth  1 

Each  overplus  and  each  deficiency 

You  will  make  good.     What  penance  then  is  due 
For  my  fierce  heat,  chastened  and  taught  by  you  ? 


17 


XV. 

THE  LOVER  AND  THE  SCULPTOR. 

Non  ha  1'  ottimo  artista. 

THE  best  of  artists  hath  no  thought  to  show 
Which  the  rough  stone  in  its  superfluous  shell 
Doth  not  include  :  to  break  the  marble  spell 
Is  all  the  hand  that  serves  the  brain  can  do. 

The  ill  I  shun,  the  good  I  seek,  even  so 
In  thee,  fair  lady,  proud,  ineffable, 
Lies  hidden  :  but  the  art  I  wield  so  well 
Works  adverse  to  my  wish,  and  lays  me  low. 

Therefore  not  love,  nor  thy  transcendent  face, 
Nor  cruelty,  nor  misfortune,  nor  disdain, 
Cause  my  mischance,  nor  fate,  nor  destiny; 

Since  in  thy  heart  thou  carriest  death  and  grace 
Enclosed  together,  and  my  worthless  brain 
Can  draw  forth  only  death  to  feed  on  me. 


i8 


XVI. 

LOVE  AND  ART. 
SI  come  nella  penna. 

AS  pen  and  ink  alike  serve  him  who  .sings 
In  high  or  low  or  intermediate  style  ; 
As  the  same  stone  hath  shapes  both  rich  and  vile 
To  match  the  fancies  that  each  master  brings  ; 
So,  my  loved  lord,  within  thy  bosom  springs 

Pride  mixed  with  meekness  and  kind  thoughts 

that  smile  : 
Whence  I  draw  nought,  my  sad  self  to  beguile, 
But  what  my  face  shows  —  dark  imaginings. 
He  who  for  seed  sows  sorrow,  tears,  and  sighs, 

(The  dews  that  fall  from  heaven,  though  pure  and 

clear, 
From  different  germs  take  divers  qualities) 
Must  needs  reap  grief  and  garner  weeping  eyes  ; 
And  he  who  looks  on  beauty  with  sad  cheer, 
Gains  doubtful  hope  and  certain  miseries. 


19 


H 


XVII. 

THE   ARTIST   AND    HIS    WORK. 
Com'  esser,  donna,  può. 
ow  can  that  be,  lady,  which  all  men  learn 


By  long  experience  ?     Shapes  that  seem  alive, 
Wrought  in  hard  mountain  marble,  will  survive       3 
Their  maker,  whom  the  years  to  dust  return  I  ^ 

Thus  to  effect  cause  yields.     Art  hath  her  turn, 
And  triumphs  over  Nature.     I,  who  strive 
With  Sculpture,  know  this  well  ;  her  wonders  live 
In  spite  of  time  and  death,  those  tyrants  stem. 

So  I  can  give  long  life  to  both  of  us 

In  either  way,  by  colour  or  by  stone, 
Making  the  semblance  of  thy  face  and  mine. 

Centuries  hence  when  both  are  buried,  thus 

Thy  beauty  and  my  sadness  shall  be  shown, 
And  men  shall  say,  '  For  her  'twas  wise  to  pine.* 


XVIII. 

BEAUTY   AND   THE   ARTIST. 

Al  cor  di  zolfo. 

A  HEART  of  flaming  sulphur,  flesh  of  tow, 
Bones  of  dry  wood,  a  soul  without  a  guide 

;         To  curb  the  fiery  will,  the  ruffling  pride 

Of  fierce  desires  that  from  the  passions  flow; 

A  sightless  mind  that  weak  and  lame  doth  go 

Mid  snares  and  pitfalls  scattered  far  and  wide  ;  — 
What  wonder  if  the  first  chance  brand  applied 
To  fuel  massed  like  this  should  make  it  glow  ? 

Add  beauteous  art,  which,  brought  with  us  from  heaven, 
Will  conquer  nature; — so  divine  a  power 
Belongs  to  him  who  strives  with  every  nerve. 

If  I  was  made  for  art,  from  childhood  given 
A  prey  for  burning  beauty  to  devour, 
I  blame  the  mistress  I  was  born  to  serve. 


XIX. 

THE    AMULET   OF   LOVE. 

Io  mi  son  caro  assai  più. 

FAR  more  than  I  was  wont  myself  I  prize  : 
With  you  within  my  heart  I  rise  in  rate, 
Just  as  a  gem  engraved  with  delicate 
Devices  o'er  the  uncut  stone  doth  rise  ; 

Or  as  a  painted  sheet  exceeds  in  price 

Each  leaf  left  pure  and  in  its  virgin  state  : 
Such  then  am  I  since  I  was  consecrate 
To  be  the  mark  for  arrows  from  your  eyes. 

Stamped  with  your  seal  I'm  safe  where'er  I  go, 
Like  one  who  carries  charms  or  coat  of  mail 
Against  all  dangers  that  his  life  assail. 

Nor  fire  nor  water  now  may  work  me  woe  ; 
Sight  to  the  blind  I  can  restore  by  you, 
Heal  every  wound,  and  every  loss  renew. 


w 


XX. 

THE  GARLAND   AND  THE   GIRDLE. 

Quanto  si  gode,  lieta. 
HAT  joy  hath  yon  glad  wreath  of  flowers  that  is 


I 


Around  her  golden  hair  so  deftly  twined, 
Each  blossom  pressing  forward  from  behind, 
As  though  to  be  the  first  her  brows  to  kiss  I 

The  livelong  day  her  dress  hath  perfect  bliss, 

That  now  reveals  her  breast,  now  seems  to  bind  : 
And  that  fair  woven  net  of  gold  refined 
Rests  on  her  cheek  and  throat  in  happiness! 

Yet  still  more  blissful  seems  to  me  the  band, 
Gilt  at  the  tips  so  sweetly  doth  it  ring, 
And  clasp  the  bosom  that  it  serves  to  lace: 

Yea,  and  the  belt,  to  such  as  understand, 

Bound  round  her  waist,  saith  :  Here  I'd  ever  cling  I 
What  would  my  arms  do  in  that  girdle's  place  ? 


XXI. 
THE  SILKWORM. 

D'  altrui  pietoso. 

KIND  to  the  world,  but  to  itself  unkind, 
A  worm  is  bom,  that,  dying  noiselessly, 
Despoils  itself  to  clothe  fair  limbs,  and  be 
In  its  true  worth  alone  by  death  divined. 

Would  I  might  die  for  my  dear  lord  to  find 
Raiment  in  my  outworn  mortality  : 
That,  changing  like  the  snake,  I  might  be  free 
To  cast  the  slough  wherein  I  dwell  confined  I 

Nay,  were  it  mine,  that  shaggy  fleece  that  stays, 
Woven  and  wrought  into  a  vestment  fair, 
Around  yon  breast  so  beauteous  in  such  bliss  I 

All  through  the  day  thou'd  clasp  me  I  Would  I  were 
The  shoes  that  bear  that  burden  I  when  the  ways 
Were  wet  with  rain,  thy  feet  I  then  should  kiss  ! 


24 


^ 


XXII. 
WAITING  IN   FAITH. 


Sc  nel  volto  per  gli  occhi. 

IF  through  the  eyes  the  heart  speaks  clear  and  true, 
I  have  no  stronger  sureties  than  these  eyes 
For  my  pure  love.     Prithee  let  them  suffice, 
Lord  of  my  soul,  pity  to  gain  from  you. 

More  tenderly  perchance  than  is  my  due, 

Your  spirit  sees  into  my  heart,  where  rise 

The  flames  of  holy  worship,  nor  denies 

The  grace  reserved  for  those  who  humbly  sue. 

Oh,  blessed  day  when  you  at  last  are  mine  1 

Let  time  stand  still,  and  let  noon's  chariot  stay  ; 
Fixed  be  that  moment  on  the  dial  of  heaven  I 

That  I  may  clasp  and  keep,  by  grace  divine. 

Clasp  in  these  yearning  arms  and  keep  for  aye 
My  heart's  loved  lord  to  me  desertless  given  ! 


25 


XXIII. 
FLESH  AND   SPIRIT. 

Ben  posson  gli  occhi 

WELL  may  these  eyes  of  mine  both  near  and  far 
Behold  the  beams  that  from  thy  beauty  flow; 
But,  lady,  feet  must  halt  where  sight  may  go: 
We  see,  but  cannot  climb  to  clasp  a  star. 

The  pure  ethereal  soul  surmounts  that  bar 

Of  flesh,  and  soars  to  where  thy  splendours  glow, 
Free  through  the  eyes;  while  prisoned  here  below, 
Though  fired  with  fervent  love,  our  bodies  are. 

Clogged  with  mortality  and  wingless,  we 
Cannot  pursue  an  angel  in  her  flight  : 
Only  to  gaze  exhausts  our  utmost  might. 

Yet,  if  but  heaven  like  earth  incline  to  thee. 
Let  my  whole  body  be  one  eye  to  see, 
That  not  one  part  of  me  may  miss  thy  sight  I 


I 


26 


à 


XXIV. 
THE  DOOM  OF  BEAUTY. 

Spirto  ben  nato. 

CHOICE  soul,  in  whom,  as  in  a  glass,  we  see, 
Mirrored  in  thy  pure  form  and  delicate, 
What  beauties  heaven  and  nature  can  create, 
The  paragon  of  all  their  works  to  be  I 

Fair  soul,  in  whom  love,  pity,  piety. 

Have  found  a  home,  as  from  thy  outward  state 
We  clearly  read,  and  are  so  rare  and  great 
That  they  adorn  none  other  like  to  thee  I 

Love  takes  me  captive  ;  beauty  binds  my  soul  ; 
Pity  and  mercy  with  their  gentle  eyes 
Wake  in  my  heart  a  hope  that  cannot  cheat. 

What  law,  what  destiny,  what  fell  control, 
What  cruelty,  or  late  or  soon,  denies 
That  death  should  spare  perfection  so  complete  Ì 


XXV.  " 

THE  TRANSFIGURATION  OF  BEAUTY. 

A   DIALOGUE  WITH  LOVE. 
Dimmi  di  grazia,  amor. 

NAY,  prithee  tell  me,  Love,  when  I  behold 
My  lady,  do  mine  eyes  her  beauty  see 
In  truth,  or  dwells  that  loveliness  in  me 
Which  multiplies  her  grace  a  thousandfold  ? 

Thou  needs  must  know;   for  thou  with  her  of  old 
Comest  to  stir  my  soul's  tranquility; 
Yet  would  I  not  seek  one  sigh  less,  or  be 
By  loss  of  that  loved  flame  more  simply  cold. — 

The  beauty  thou  discernest,  all  is  hers; 

But  grows  in  radiance  as  it  soars  on  high 
Through  mortal  eyes  unto  the  soul  above  : 

*Tis  there  transfigured  ;  for  the  soul  confers 
On  what  she  holds,  her  own  divinity: 
And  this  transfigured  beauty  wins  thy  love. 


28 


I 

T 


XXVI. 

JOY   MAY  KILL. 

Non  men  gran  grazia,  donna. 
oo  much  good  luck  no  less  than  misery 


May  kill  a  man  condemned  to  mortal  pain, 
If,  lost  to  hope  and  chilled  in  every  vein, 
A  sudden  pardon  comes  to  set  him  free. 

Thus  thy  unwonted  kindness  shown  to  me 

Amid  the  gloom  where  only  sad  thoughts  reign, 
With  too  much  rapture  bringing  light  again, 
Threatens  my  life  more  than  that  agony. 

Good  news  and  bad  may  bear  the  self-same  knife  ; 
And  death  may  follow  both  upon  their  flight  ; 
For  hearts  that  shrink  or  swell,  alike  will  break. 

Let  then  thy  beauty,  to  preserve  my  life. 

Temper  the  source  of  this  supreme  delight, 
Lest  joy  so  poignant  slay  a  soul  so  weak. 


29 


I 


XXVII. 
NO  ESCAPE   FROM  LOVE. 

Non  posso  altra  figtira. 

I  CAN  NOT  by  the  utmost  flight  of  thought 
Conceive  another  form  of  air  or  clay,  j 

Wherewith  against  thy  beauty  to  array  a 

My  wounded  heart  in  armour  fancy-wrought  : 
For,  lacking  thee,  so  low  my  state  is  brought, 
That  Love  hath  stolen  all  my  strength  away; 
Whence,  when  I  fain  would  halve  my  griefs,  they 

weigh 
With  double  sorrow,  and  I  sink  to  nought. 
Thus  all  in  vain  my  soul  to  scape  thee  flies, 
For  ever  faster  flies  her  beauteous  foe  : 
From  the  swift-footed  feebly  run  the  slow  I 
Yet  with  his  hands  Love  wipes  my  weeping  eyes. 
Saying,  this  toil  will  end  in  happy  cheer  ; 
What  costs  the  heart  so  much,  musts  needs  be 
dear  I 


I 


30 


XXVIII. 

THE   HEAVENLY  BIRTH   OF 
LOVE   AND  BEAUTY. 

La  vita  del  mie  amor. 

THIS  heart  of  flesh  feeds  not  with  life  my  love  : 
The  love  wherewith  I  love  thee  hath  no  heart  ; 
Nor  harbours  it  in  any  mortal  part, 
Where  erring  thought  or  ill  desire  may  move. 

When  first  Love  sent  our  souls  from  God  above, 
He  fashioned  me  to  see  thee  as  thou  art  — 
Pure  light  ;  and  thus  I  find  God's  counterpart 
In  thy  fair  face,  and  feel  the  sting  thereof. 

As  heat  from  fire,  from  loveliness  divine 

The  mind  that  worships  what  recalls  the  sun 
From  whence  she  sprang,  can  be  divided  never  : 

And  since  thine  eyes  all  Paradise  enshrine, 
Burning  unto  those  orbs  of  light  I  run. 
There  where  I  loved  thee  first  to  dwell  for  ever. 


31 


XXIX. 

LOVE'S  DILEMMA. 
1'  mi  credetti. 


1 


I  DEEMED  upon  that  day  when  first  I  knew 
So  many  peerless  beauties  blent  in  one,  . 

That,  like  an  eagle  gazing  on  the  sun,  ijl 

Mine  eyes  might  fix  on  the  least  part  of  you.  * 

That  dream  hath  vanished,  and  my  hope  is  flown  ; 
For  he  who  fain  a  seraph  would  pursue 
Wingless,  hath  cast  words  to  the  winds,  and  dew 
On  stones,  and  gauged  God's  reason  with  his  own. 

If  then  my  heart  cannot  endure  the  blaze  f| 

Of  beauties  infinite  that  blind  these  eyes, 
Nor  yet  can  bear  to  be  from  you  divided. 

What  fate  is  mine  ?     Who  guides  or  guards  my  ways. 
Seeing  my  soul,  so  lost  and  ill-betided. 
Burns  in  your  presence,  in  your  absence  dies  ? 


32 


in 


XXX. 

LOVE  THE   LIGHT-GIVER. 

TO   TOMMASO    DE*   CAVALIERI, 
Veggio  co'  bei  vostri  occhi. 

WITH  your  fair  eyes  a  charming  light  I  see, 
For  which  my  own  blind  eyes  wonld  peer  in 
vain; 
Stayed  by  yonr  feet,  the  burden  I  sustain 
Which  my  lame  feet  find  all  too  strong  for  me  ; 

Wingless  upon  your  pinions  forth  I  fly  ; 

Heavenward  your  spirit  stirreth  me  to  strain  ; 
E'en  as  you  will,  I  blush  and  blanch  again, 
Freeze  in  the  sun,  burn  'neath  a  frosty  sky. 

Your  will  includes  and  is  the  lord  of  mine  ; 

Life  to  my  thoughts  within  your  heart  is  given  ; 
My  words  begin  to  breathe  upon  your  breath  : 

Like  to  the  moon  am  I,  that  cannot  shine 

Alone  ;  for  lo  !  our  eyes  see  nought  in  heaven 
Save  what  the  living  sun  illumineth. 


33 


XXXI. 

LOVE'S   LORDSHIP. 

TO   TOMMASO   DE'  CAVALIERI. 
A  che  più  debb'  lo. 

WHY  should  I  seek  to  ease  intense  desire 
With  still  more  tears  and  windy  words  of  grief, 
When  heaven,  or  late  or  soon,  sends  no  relief 
To  souls  whom  love  hath  robed  around  with  fire  ? 

Why  need  my  aching  heart  to  death  aspire, 

When  all  must  die .''  Nay,  death  beyond  belief 
Unto  these  eyes  would  be  both  sweet  and  brief, 
Since  in  my  sum  of  woes  all  joys  expire  1 

Therefore,  because  I  cannot  shun  the  blow 

I  rather  seek,  say  who  must  rule  my  breast, 
Gliding  between  her  gladness  and  her  woe  ? 

If  only  chains  and  bands  can  make  me  blest, 
No  marvel  if  alone  and  bare  I  go, 
An  armed  knight's  captive  and  slave  confessed. 


I 


V 

\ 


34 


I 


XXXII. 

LOVE'S   EXPOSTULATION. 

S'  un  casto  amor. 

IF  love  be  chaste,  if  virtue  conquer  ill, 
If  fortune  bind  both  lovers  in  one  bond, 
If  either  at  the  other's  grief  despond, 
If  both  be  governed  by  one  life,  one  will  ; 

If  in  two  bodies  one  soul  triumph  still, 

Raising  the  twain  from  earth  to  heaven  beyond, 
If  Love  with  one  blow  and  one  golden  wand 
Have  power  both  smitten  breasts  to  pierce  and 
thrill  ; 

If  each  the  other  love,  himself  for  going, 

With  such  delight,  such  savour,  and  so  well, 
That  both  to  one  sole  end  their  wills  combine  ; 

If  thousands  of  these  thoughts,  all  thought  outgoing. 
Fail  the  least  part  of  their  firm  love  to  tell  : 
Say,  can  mere  angry  spite  this  knot  untwine  ? 


35 


XXXIII. 

FIRST  READING. 

A  PRAYER  TO    NATURE. 

AMOR    REDIVIVUS. 
Perchè  tuo  gran  bellezze. 

THAT  thy  great  beauty  on  our  earth  may  be 
Shrined  in  a  lady  softer  and  more  kind, 
I  call  on  nature  to  collect  and  bind 
All  those  delights  the  slow  years  steal  from  thee, 

And  save  them  to  restore  the  radiancy 

Of  thy  bright  face  in  some  fair  form  designed 
By  heaven  ;  and  may  love  ever  bear  in  mind 
To  mould  her  heart  of  grace  and  courtesy. 

I  call  on  nature  too  to  keep  my  sighs, 

My  scattered  tears  to  take  and  recombine, 
And  give  to  him  who  loves  that  fair  again  : 

More  happy  he  perchance  shall  move  those  eyes 
To  mercy  by  the  griefs  wherewith  I  pine, 
Nor  lose  the  kindness  that  from  me  is  ta'en  1 


36 


XXXIII. 

H  SECOND  RBADIKG. 

T  A   PRAYER    TO   NATURE. 

AMOR   REDIVIVUS. 
K  Sol  perchè  tue  bellezze. 

IF  only  that  thy  beauties  here  may  be 
Deathless  through  Time  that  rends  the  wreaths 

he  twined, 
I  trust  that  Nature  will  collect  and  bind 
All  those  delights  the  slow  years  steal  from  thee, 

And  keep  them  for  a  birth  more  happily 
Born  under  better  auspices,  refined 
Into  a  heavenly  form  of  nobler  mind, 
And  dowered  with  all  thine  angel  purity. 

Ah  me  I  and  may  heaven  also  keep  my  sighs, 
My  scattered  tears  preserve  and  reunite, 
And  give  to  him  who  loves  that  fair  again  I 

More  happy  he  perchance  shall  move  those  eyes 
To  mercy  by  the  griefs  my  manhood  blight. 
Nor  lose  the  kindness  that  from  me  is  ta'en  I 


37 


XXXIV. 

LOVE'S   FURNACE. 

Si  amico  al  freddo  sasso. 

SO  friendly  is  the  fire  to  flinty  stone, 
That,  struck  therefrom  and  kindled  to  a  blaze, 
It  burns  the  stone,  and  from  the  ash  doth  raise 
What  lives  thenceforward  binding  stones  in  one 

Kiln-hardened  this  resists  both  frost  and  sun, 
Acquiring  higher  worth  for  endless  days  — 
As  the  purged  soul  from  hell  returns  with  praise. 
Amid  the  heavenly  host  to  take  her  throne. 

E'en  so  the  fire  struck  from  my  soul,  that  lay 
Close-hidden  in  my  heart,  may  temper  me, 
Till  burned  and  slaked  to  better  life  I  rise. 

If,  made  mere  smoke  and  dust,  I  live  to-day. 
Fire-hardened  I  shall  live  eternally  ; 
Such  gold,  not  iron,  my  spirit  strikes  and  tries. 


38 


ì 


XXXV. 
LOVE'S   PARADOXES. 

Sento  d' un  foco. 

FAR  off  with  fire  I  feel  a  cold  face  lit, 
That  makes  me  burn,  the  while  itself  doth  freeze  ; 
Two  fragile  arms  enchain  me,  which  with  ease. 
Unmoved  themselves,  can  move  weights  infinite 

A  soul  none  knows  but  I,  most  exquisite. 

That,  deathless,  deals  me  death,  my  spirit  sees  : 
I  meet  with  one  who,  free,  my  heart  doth  seize  : 
And  who  alone  can  cheer,  hath  tortured  it. 

How  can  it  be  that  from  one  face  like  thine 
My  own  should  feel  effects  so  contrary. 
Since  ill  comes  not  from  things  devoid  of  ill  ì 

That  loveliness  perchance  doth  make  me  pine, 
Even  as  the  sun,  whose  fiery  beams  we  see. 
Inflames  the  world,  while  he  is  temperate  still. 


39 


XXXVI. 
LOVE   MISINTERPRETED. 

Se  l'immortal  desio. 

ÌF  the  tindpng  thirst  that  purifies 
Our  mortal  thoughts,  could  draw  mine  to  the  day, 
Perchance  the  lord  who  now  holds  cruel  sway 
In  Love's  high  house,  would  prove  more  kindly- 
wise. 

But  since  the  laws  of  heaven  immortalise 

Our  souls,  and  doom  our  flesh  to  swift  decay, 
Tongue  cannot  tell  how  fair,  how  pure  as  day. 
Is  the  soul's  thirst  that  far  beyond  it  lies. 

How  then,  ah  woe  is  me  I  shall  that  chaste  fire, 

Which  burns  the  heart  within  me,  be  made  known. 
If  sense  finds  only  sense  in  what  it  sees  ? 

All  my  fair  hours  are  turned  to  miseries 

With  my  loved  lord,  who  minds  but  lies  alone; 
For,  truth  to  tell,  who  trusts  not  is  a  liar. 


40 


XXXVII. 
LOVE'S   SERVITUDE. 

PERHAPS   TO    VITTORIA   COLONNA. 
S'  alcun  legato  è  pur. 

HE  who  is  bound  by  some  great  benefit, 
As  to  be  raised  from  death  to  life  again, 
How  shall  he  recompense  that  gift,  or  gain 
Freedom  from  servitude  so  infinite  ? 

Yet  if  'twere  possible  to  pay  the  debt. 

He'd  lose  that  kindness  which  we  entertain 
For  those  who  serve  us  well;  since  it  is  plain 
That  kindness  needs  some  boon  to  quicken  it. 

Wherefore,  O  lady,  to  maintain  thy  grace, 
So  far  above  my  fortune,  what  I  bring 
Is  rather  thanklessness  than  courtesy  : 

For  if  both  met  as  equals  face  to  face. 

She  whom  I  love  could  not  be  called  my  king; 
There  is  no  lordship  in  equality. 


41 


XXXVIII. 

LOVE'S  VAIN   EXPENSE. 

Rendete  a  gli  occhi  miei. 

GIVE  back  unto  mine  eyes,  ye  fount  and  rill, 
Those  streams,  not  yours,  that  are  so  full  and 
strong, 
That  swell  your  springs,  and  roll  your  waves  along 
With  force  unwonted  in  your  native  hill  I 

And  thou,  dense  air,  weighed  with  my  sighs  so  chill. 
That  hidest  heaven's  own  light  thick  mists  among. 
Give  back  those  sighs  to  my  sad  heart,  nor  wrong 
My  visual  ray  with  thy  dark  face  of  ill  I 

Let  earth  give  back  the  footprints  that  I  wore, 

That  the  bare  grass  I  spoiled  may  sprout  again  ; 
And  Echo,  now  grown  deaf,  my  cries  return  I 

Loved  eyes,  unto  mine  eyes  those  looks  restore, 
And  let  me  woo  another  not  in  vain, 
Since  how  to  please  thee  I  shall  never  learn  I 


R 


XXXIX. 

LOVE'S  ARGUMENT   WITH   REASON. 

La  ragion  meco  si  lamenta. 
EASON  laments  and  grieves  full  sore  with  me, 


The  while  I  hope  by  loving  to  be  blest  ; 
With  precepts  sound  and  true  philosophy 
My  shame  she  quickens  thus  within  my  breast  : 

'  What  else  but  death  will  that  sun  deal  to  thee  — 
Nor  like  the  phoenix  in  her  flaming  nest  ?  ' 
Yet  nought  avails  this  wise  morality; 
No  hand  can  save  a  suicide  confessed. 

I  know  my  doom  ;  the  truth  I  apprehend  : 

But  on  the  other  side  my  traitorous  heart 
Slays  me  whene'er  to  wisdom's  words  I  bend. 

Between  two  deaths  my  lady  stands  apart  : 

This  death  I  dread  ;  that  none  can  comprehend. 
In  this  suspense  body  and  soul  must  part. 


43 


XL. 

FIRST  READING. 

LOVE'S   LOADSTONE. 

No  so  s'  è  la  desiata  luce. 

I    KNOW  not  if  it  be  the  longed-for  light 
Of  her  first  Maker  which  the  spirit  feels  ; 
Or  if  a  time-old  memory  reveals 
Some  other  beauty  for  the  heart's  delight  ; 

Or  fame  or  dreams  beget  that  vision  bright, 

Sweet  to  the  eyes,  which  through  the  bosom  steals, 
Leaving  I  know  not  what  that  wounds  and  heals. 
And  now  perchance  hath  made  me  weep  outright. 

Be  this  what  this  may  be,  'tis  this  I  seek  : 

Nor  guide  have  I  ;  nor  know  1  where  to  find 
That  burning  fire;  yet  some  one  seems  to  lead. 

This,  since  I  saw  thee,  lady,  makes  me  weak  ; 

A  bitter-sweet  sways  here  and  there  my  mind, 
And  sure  I  am  thine  eyes  this  mischief  breed. 


I 


XL. 

SECOND  READING. 

LOVE'S  LOADSTONE. 
Non  so  se  s'  è  l' immaginata  luce. 
KNOW  not  if  it  be  the  fancied  light 


1     Which  every  man  or  more  or  less  doth  feel  ; 
Or  if  the  mind  and  memory  reveal 
Some  other  beauty  for  the  heart's  delight; 

Or  if  within  the  soul  the  vision  bright 

Of  her  celestial  home  once  more  doth  steal, 
Drawing  our  better  thoughts  with  pure  appeal 
To  the  true  Good  above  all  mortal  sight: 

This  light  I  long  for  and  unguided  seek  ; 

This  fire  that  burns  my  heart,  I  cannot  find  ; 
Nor  know  the  way,  though  some  one  seems  to  lead. 

This,  since  I  saw  thee,  lady,  makes  me  weak  : 

A  bitter-sweet  sways  here  and  there  my  mind; 
And  sure  I  am  thine  eyes  this  mischief  breed. 


45 


» 


XLI. 
LIGHT  AND   DARKNESS. 

Colili  che  fece. 

HE  who  ordained,  when  first  the  world  began, 
Time,  that  was  not  before  creation's  hour, 
Divided  it,  and  gave  the  sun's  high  power 
To  rule  the  one,  the  moon  the  other  span  : 

Thence  fate  and  changeful  chance  and  fortune's  ban 
Did  in  one  moment  down  on  mortals  shower: 
To  me  they  portioned  darkness  for  a  dower; 
Dark  hath  my  lot  been  since  I  was  a  man. 

Myself  am  ever  mine  own  counterfeit  ; 

And  as  deep  night  grows  still  more  dim  and  dun, 
So  still  of  more  misdoing  must  I  rue  : 

Meanwhile  this  solace  to  my  soul  is  sweet. 

That  my  black  night  doth  make  more  clear  the  sun 
Which  at  your  birth  was  given  to  wait  on  you. 


46 


XLII. 
SACRED   NIGHT. 

Ogni  van  chiuso. 

ALL  hollow  vaults  and  dungeons  sealed  from  sight, 
All  caverns  circumscribed  with  roof  and  wall, 
Defend  dark  Night,  though  noon  around  her  fall, 
From  the  fierce  play  of  solar  day-beams  bright. 

But  if  she  be  assailed  by  fire  or  light, 

Her  powers  divine  are  nought  ;  they  tremble  all 
Before  things  far  more  vile  and  trivial  — 
Even  a  glow-worm  can  confound  their  might. 

The  earth  that  lies  bare  to  the  sun,  and  breeds 
A  thousand  germs  that  burgeon  and  decay  — 
This  earth  is  wounded  by  the  ploughman's  share  : 

But  only  darkness  serves  for  human  seeds; 

Night  therefore  is  more  sacred  far  than  day, 
Since  man  excels  all  fruits  however  fair. 


47 


XLIII. 
THE  IMPEACHMENT  OF  NIGHT. 

Perchè  Febo  non  torce. 

WHAT  time  bright  PhcEbus  doth  not  stretch  ar.4 
bend 
His  shining  arms  around  this  terrene  sphere, 
The  people  call  that  season  dark  and  drear 
Night,  for  the  cause  they  do  not  comprehend. 

So  weak  is  Night  that  if  our  hand  extend 

A  glimmering  torch,  her  shadows  disappear, 
Leaving  her  dead  ;  like  frailest  gossamere, 
Tinder  and  steel  her  mantle  rive  and  rend. 

Nay,  if  this  Night  be  anything  at  all, 

Sure  she  is  daughter  of  the  sun  and  earth  ; 
This  holds,  the  other  spreads  that  shadowy  pall. 

Howbeit  they  err  who  praise  this  gloomy  birth, 
So  frail  and  desolate  and  void  of  mirth 
That  one  poor  firefly  can  her  might  appal. 


48 


o 


XLIV. 
THE  DEFENCE  OF  NIGHT. 

O  nott'  o  dolce  tempo. 

NIGHT,  O  sweet  though  sombre  span  of  time  I  — 
All  things  find  rest  upon  their  journey's  end  — 
Whoso  hath  praised  thee,  well  doth  apprehend  ; 
And  whoso  honours  thee,  hath  wisdom's  prime. 

Our  cares  thou  canst  to  quietude  sublime; 

For  dews  and  darkness  are  of  peace  the  friend  : 

Often  by  thee  in  dreams  upborne,  I  wend 

From  earth  to  heaven,  where  yet  I  hope  to  climb. 

Thou  shade  of  Death,  through  whom  the  soul  at  length 
Shuns  pain  and  sadness  hostile  to  the  heart. 
Whom  mourners  find  their  last  and  sure  relief  I 

Thou  dost  restore  our  suffering  flesh  to  strength, 
Driest  our  tears,  assuagest  every  smart, 
Purging  the  spirits  of  the  pure  from  grief. 


49 


w 


XLV. 

LOVE  FEEDS  THE  FLAME  OF  AGE. 

Quand'  il  servo  il  signior. 

HEN  masters  bind  a  slave  with  cruel  chain, 


And  keep  him  hope-forlorn  in  bondage  pent, 
Use  tames  his  temper  to  imprisonment, 
And  hardly  would  he  fain  be  free  again. 

Use  curbs  the  snake  and  tiger,  and  doth  train 
Fierce  woodland  lions  to  bear  chastisement  ; 
And  the  young  artist,  all  with  toil  forspent. 
By  constant  use  a  giant's  strength  doth  gain. 

But  with  the  force  of  flame  it  is  not  so  : 

For  while  fire  sucks  the  sap  of  the  green  wood. 
It  warms  a  frore  old  man  and  makes  him  grow  ; 

With  such  fine  heat  of  youth  and  lustihood 
Filling  his  heart  and  teaching  it  to  glow. 
That  love  enfolds  him  with  beatitude. 

If  then  in  playful  mood 
He  sport  and  jest,  old  age  need  no  man  blame; 
For  loving  things  divine  implies  no  shame. 

The  soul  that  knows  her  aim. 
Sins  not  by  loving  God's  own  counterfeit  — 
Due  measure  kept,  and  bounds,  and  order  meet. 


50 


XLVI. 

LOVE'S   FLAME   DOTH   FEED   ON   AGE. 

Se  da'  prim'  anni. 

IF  some  mild  heat  of  love  in  youth  confessed 
Burns  a  fresh  heart  with  swift  consuming  fire, 
What  will  the  force  be  of  a  flame  more  dire 
Shut  up  within  an  old  man's  cindery  breast  ? 

If  the  mere  lapse  of  lengthening  years  hath  pressed 
So  sorely  that  life,  strength,  and  vigour  tire. 
How  shall  he  fare  who  must  ere  long  expire, 
When  to  old  age  is  added  love's  unrest  ? 

Weak  as  myself,  he  will  be  whirled  away 

Like  dust  by  winds  kind  in  their  cruelty, 
Robbing  the  loathly  worm  of  its  last  prey. 

A  little  flame  consumed  and  fed  on  me 

In  my  green  age  :  now  that  the  wood  is  dry. 
What  hope  against  this  fire  more  fierce  have  I  ? 


51 


XLVII. 

BEAUTY'S   INTOLERABLE   SPLENDOUR. 

Se  1  foco  alla  bellezza. 

IF  but  the  fire  that  lightens  in  thine  eyes 
Were  equal  with  their  beauty,  all  the  snow 
And  frost  of  all  the  world  would  melt  and  glow 
Like  brands  that  blaze  beneath  fierce  tropic  skies. 

But  heaven  in  mercy  to  our  miseries 

Dulls  and  divides  the  fiery  beams  that  flow 
From  thy  great  loveliness,  that  we  may  go 
Through  this  stern  mortal  life  in  tranquil  wise. 

Thus  beauty  burns  not  with  consuming  rage  ; 
For  so  much  only  of  the  heavenly  light 
Inflames  our  love  as  finds  a  fervent  heart. 

This  is  my  case,  lady,  in  sad  old  age  : 
If  seeing  thee,  I  do  not  die  outright, 
'Tis  that  I  feel  thy  beauty  but  in  part. 


52 


XLVIII. 
LOVE'S   EVENING. 

Se  '1  troppo  indugio. 

WHAT  though  long  waiting  wins  more  happiness 
Than  petulant  desire  is  wont  to  gain, 
My  luck  in  latest  age  hath  brought  me  pain, 
Thinking  how  brief  must  be  an  old  man's  bliss. 

Heaven,  if  it  heed  our  lives,  can  hardly  bless 

This  fire  of  love  when  frosts  are  wont  to  reign  : 

For  so  I  love  thee,  lady,  and  my  strain 

Of  tears  through  age  exceeds  in  tenderness. 

Yet  peradventure  though  my  day  is  done, — 

Though  nearly  past  the  setting  mid  thick  cloud 
And  frozen  exhalations  sinks  my  sun, — 

If  love  to  only  mid-day  be  allowed. 

And  I  an  old  man  in  my  evening  bum, 
You,  lady,  still  my  night  to  noon  may  turn. 


53 


XLIX. 
LOVE'S   EXCUSE. 

Dal  dolcie  pianto. 

FROM  happy  tears  to  woeful  smiles,  from  peace 
Eternal  to  a  brief  and  hollow  truce, 
How  have  I  fallen  !  —  when  'tis  truth  we  lose, 
Sense  triumphs  o'er  all  adverse  impulses. 

I  know  not  if  my  heart  bred  this  disease. 

That  still  more  pleasing  grows  with  growing  use; 
Or  else  thy  face,  thine  eyes,  which  stole  the  hues 
And  fires  of  Paradise  —  less  fair  than  these. 

Thy  beauty  is  no  mortal  thing  ;  'twas  sent 

From  heaven  on  high  to  make  our  earth  divine  : 
Wherefore,  though  wasting,  burning,  I'm  content; 

For  in  thy  sight  what  could  I  do  but  pine  ? 
If  God  himself  thus  rules  my  destiny, 
Who,  when  I  die,  can  lay  the  blame  on  thee? 


54 


IN   LOVE'S    OWN   TIME. 

S' r  avessi  creduto. 

HAD  I  but  earlier  known  that  from  the  eyes 
Of  that  bright  soul  that  fires  me  like  the  sun, 
I  might  have  drawn  new  strength  my  race  to  run, 
Burning  as  burns  the  phoenix  ere  it  dies  ; 

Even  as  the  stag  or  lynx  or  leopard  flies 

To  seek  his  pleasure  and  his  pain  to  shun. 
Each  word,  each  smile  of  her  would  I  have  won, 
Flying  where  now  sad  age  all  flight  denies. 

Yet  why  complain  ?     For  even  now  I  find 
In  that  glad  angel's  face,  so  full  of  rest. 
Health  and  content,  heart's  ease  and  peace  of  mind 

Perchance  I  might  have  been  less  simply  blest, 
Finding  her  sooner  :  if  'tis  age  alone 
That  lets  me  soar  with  her  to  seek  God's  throne. 


55 


LI. 

FIRST   RHADING. 

LOVE   IN    YOUTH   AND   AGE. 

Tornami  al  tempo, 

BRING  back  the  time  when  blind  desire  ran  free, 
With  bit  and  rein  too  loose  to  curb  his  flight  ; 

Give  back  the  buried  face,  once  angel-bright, 

That  hides  in  earth  all  comely  things  from  me  ; 
Bring  back  those  journeys  ta'en  so  toilsomely, 

So  toilsome-slow  to  one  whose  hairs  are  white; 

Those  tears  and  flames  that  in  one  breast  unite  ; 

If  thou  wilt  once  more  take  thy  fill  of  me  I 
Yet  Love!     Suppose  it  true  that  thou  dost  thrive 

Only  on  bitter  honey-dews  of  tears, 

Small  profit  hast  thou  of  a  weak  old  man. 
My  soul  that  toward  the  other  shore  doth  strive, 

Wards  off  thy  darts  with  shafts  of  holier  fears  ; 

And  fire  feeds  ill  on  brands  no  breath  can  fan. 


56 


B 


LI. 

SECOND  READING. 

LOVE   IN   YOUTH   AND   AGE. 

Tornami  al  tempo. 
RING  back  the  time  when  glad  desire  ran  free 


With  bit  and  rein  too  loose  to  curb  his  flight, 
The  tears  and  flames  that  in  one  breast  unite, 
If  thou  art  fain  once  more  to  conquer  me  I 

Bring  back  those  journeys  ta'en  so  toilsomely, 

So  toilsome-slow  to  him  whose  hairs  are  white  I 
Give  back  the  buried  face  once  angel-bright, 
That  taxed  all  Nature's  art  and  industry. 

O  Love  !  an  old  man  finds  it  hard  to  chase 

Thy  flying  pinions  1     Thou  hast  left  thy  nest; 
Nor  is  my  heart  as  light  as  heretofore. 

Put  thy  gold  arrows  to  the  string  once  more  : 

Then  if  Death  hear  my  prayer  and  grant  me  grace. 
My  grief  I  shall  forget,  again  made  blest. 


57 


I 


I 


LII. 
CELESTIAL  LOVE. 

Non  vider  gli  occhi  miei. 
SAW  no  mortal  beauty  with  these  eyes 


When  perfect  peace  in  thy  fair  eyes  I  found  ; 

But  far  within,  where  all  is  holy  ground, 

My  soul  felt  Love,  her  comrade  of  the  skies  : 
For  she  was  born  with  God  in  Paradise  ; 

Else  should  we  still  to  transient  love  be  bound  ; 

But,  finding  these  so  false,  we  pass  beyond 

Unto  the  Love  of  loves  that  never  dies. 
Nay,  things  that  die  cannot  assuage  the  thrist 

Of  souls  undying  ;  nor  Eternity 

Serves  Time,  where  all  must  fade  that  flourisheth. 
Sense  is  not  love,  but  lawlessness  accurst  : 

This  kills  the  soul  ;  while  our  love  lifts  on  high 

Our  friends  on  earth — higher  in  heaven  through 
death. 


58 


LUI. 
CELESTIAL   AND   EARTHLY   LOVE. 

Non  è  sempre  di  colpa. 

LOVE  is  not  always  harsh  and  deadly  sin, 
When  love  for  boundless  beauty  makes  us  pine  ; 
The  heart,  by  love  left  soft  and  infantine, 
Will  let  the  shafts  of  God's  grace  enter  in. 

Love  wings  and  wakes  the  soul,  stirs  her  to  win 
Her  flight  aloft,  nor  e'er  to  earth  decline  ; 
'Tis  the  first  step  that  leads  her  to  the  shrine 
Of  Him  who  slakes  the  thirst  that  burns  within. 

The  love  of  that  whereof  I  speak  ascends  : 
Woman  is  different  far  ;  the  love  of  her 
But  ill  befits  a  heart  manly  and  wise. 

The  one  love  soars,  the  other  earthward  tends  ; 
The  soul  lights  this,  while  that  the  senses  stir  ; 
And  still  lust's  arrow  at  base  quarry  flies. 


59 


LIV. 
LOVE  LIFTS  TO   GOD. 

Veggio  nel  tuo  bel  viso. 

FROM  thy  fair  face  I  learn,  O  my  loved  lord, 
That  which  no  mortal  tongue  can  rightly  say  ; 
The  soul  imprisoned  in  her  house  of  clay, 
Holpen  by  thee,  to  God  hath  often  soared. 

And  though  the  vulgar,  vain,  malignant  horde 
Attribute  what  their  grosser  wills  obey, 
Yet  shall  this  fervent  homage  that  I  pay, 
This  love,  this  faith,  pure  joys  for  us  afford. 

Lo,  all  the  lovely  things  we  find  on  earth, 
Resemble  for  the  soul  that  rightly  sees 
That  source  of  bliss  divine  which  gave  us  birth  : 

Nor  have  we  first-fruits  or  remembrances 

Of  heaven  elsewhere.     Thus,  loving  loyally, 
I  rise  to  Ck>d,  and  make  death  sweet  by  thee. 


60 


LV. 
LOVE'S   ENTREATY. 

Tu  sa'  eh'  i'  so,  Signor  mie. 

THOU  knowest,  love,  I  know  that  thou  dost  know 
That  I  am  here  more  near  to  thee  to  be, 
And  knowest  that  I  know  thou  knowest  me  : 
What  means  it  then  that  we  are  sundered  so  ? 

If  they  are  true,  these  hopes  that  from  thee  flow, 
If  it  is  real,  this  sweet  expectancy, 
Break  down  the  wall  that  stands  'twixt  me  and 

thee; 
For  pain  in  prison  pent  hath  double  woe. 

Because  in  thee  I  love,  O  my  loved  lord, 

What  thou  best  lovest,  be  not  therefore  stern  : 
Souls  burn  for  souls,  spirits  to  spirits  cry  I 

I  seek  the  splendour  in  thy  fair  face  stored  ; 

Yet  living  man  that  beauty  scarce  can  learn, 
And  he  who  fain  would  find  it,  first  must  die. 


LVI. 

FIRST  RSADING. 

HEAVEN-BORN   BEAUTY. 

Per  ritornar  là. 

AS  one  who  will  re-seek  her  home  of  light, 
Thy  form  immortal  to  this  prison-house 
Descended,  like  an  angel  piteous. 
To  heal  all  hearts  and  make  the  whole  world 
bright. 

'Tis  this  that  thralls  my  soul  in  love's  delight. 
Not  thy  clear  face  of  beauty  glorious  ; 
For  he  who  harbours  virtue,  still  will  choose 
To  love  what  neither  years  nor  death  can  blight. 

So  fares  it  ever  with  things  high  and  rare 

Wrought  in  the  sweat  of  nature  ;  heaven  above 
Showers  on  their  birth  the  blessings  of  her  prime  : 

Nor  hath  God  deigned  to  show  Himself  elsewhere 
More  clearly  than  in  human  forms  sublime, 
Which,  since  they  image  Him,  alone  I  love. 


62 


LVI. 

SECOND  READING. 

HEAVEN-BORN   BEAUTY. 
Venne,  non  so  ben  donde. 

IT  came,  I  know  not  whence,  from  far  above, 
That  clear,  immortal  flame  that  still  doth  rise 
Within  thy  sacred  breast,  and  fills  the  skies. 
And  heals  all  hearts,  and  adds  to  heaven  new  love. 

This  burns  me,  this,  and  the  pure  light  thereof  ; 
Not  thy  fair  face,  thy  sweet  untroubled  eyes  : 
For  love  that  is  not  love  for  aught  that  dies, 
Dwells  in  the  soul  where  no  base  passions  move. 

If  then  such  loveliness  upon  its  own 

Should  graft  new  beauties  in  a  mortal  birth. 
The  sheath  bespeaks  the  shining  blade  within. 

To  gain  our  love  God  hath  not  clearer  shown 

Himself  elsewhere  :  thus  heaven  doth  vie  with 

earth 
To  make  thee  worthy  worship  without  sin. 


63 


LVII. 

KIRST   READING. 

CARNAL  AND   SPIRITUAL  LOVE. 
Passa  per  gli  occhi 

SWIFT  through  the  eyes  unto  the  heart  within 
All  lovely  forms  that  thrall  our  spirit  stray  ; 
So  smooth  and  broad  and  open  is  the  way 
That  thousands  and  not  hundreds  enter  in. 

Burdened  with  scruples  and  weighed  down  with  sin, 
These  mortal  beauties  fill  me  with  dismay  ; 
Nor  find  I  one  that  doth  not  strive  to  stay 
My  soul  on  transient  joy,  or  lets  me  win 

The  heaven  I  yearn  for.     Lo,  when  erring  love  — 
Who  fills  the  world,  howe'er  his  power  we  shun, 
Else  were  the  world  a  grave  and  we  undone  — 

Assails  the  soul,  if  grace  refuse  to  fan 

Our  purged  desires  and  make  them  soar  above, 
What  grief  it  were  to  have  been  born  a  man  ! 


I 


64 


LVII. 

SECOND  RBADING. 

CARNAL  AND   SPIRITUAL  LOVE. 
Passa  per  gli  occhi 

SWIFT  through  the  eyes  unto  the  heart  within 
All  lovely  forms  that  thrall  our  spirit  stray  ; 
So  smooth  and  broad  and  open  is  the  way 
That  thousands  and  not  hundreds  enter  in 

Of  every  age  and  sex  :  whence  I  begin, 

Burdened  with  griefs,  but  more  with  dull  dismay, 
To  fear  ;  nor  find  mid  all  their  bright  array 
One  that  with  full  content  my  heart  may  win. 

If  mortal  beauty  be  the  food  of  love, 

It  came  not  with  the  soul  from  heaven,  and  thus 
That  love  itself  must  be  a  mortal  fire  : 

But  if  love  reach  to  nobler  hopes  above, 

Thy  love  shall  scorn  me  not  nor  dread  desire 
That  seeks  a  carnal  prey  assailing  us. 


65 


w 


LVIII. 
LOVE  AND   DEATH. 
Ognor  che  1'  idol  mio. 
HEN  e'er  the  idol  of  these  eyes  appears 


Unto  my  musing  heart  so  weak  and  strong, 
Death  comes  between  her  and  my  soul  ere  long 
Chasing  her  thence  with  troops  of  gathering  fears. 

Nathless  this  violence  my  spirit  cheers 

With  better  hope  than  if  she  had  no  wrong; 
While  Love  invincible  arrays  the  throng 
Of  dauntless  thoughts,  and  thus  harangues  his 
peers  : 

But  once,  he  argues,  can  a  mortal  die; 

But  once  be  born  :  and  he  who  dies  afire, 
What  shall  he  gain  if  erst  he  dwelt  with  me  ? 

That  burning  love  whereby  the  soul  flies  free. 
Doth  lure  each  fervent  spirit  to  aspire 
Like  gold  refined  in  flame  to  God  on  high. 


66 


LIX. 
LOVE  IS  A   REFINER'S   FIRE. 

Non  più  eh'  '1  foco  il  fabbro. 

IT  is  with  fire  that  blacksmiths  iron  subdue 
Unto  fair  form,  the  image  of  their  thought  : 
Nor  without  fire  hath  any  artist  wrought 
Gold  to  its  utmost  purity  of  hue. 

Nay,  nor  the  unmatched  phoenix  lives  anew, 
Unless  she  burn  :  if  then  I  am  distraught 
By  fire,  I  may  to  better  life  be  brought 
Like  those  whom  death  restores  nor  years  undo. 

The  fire  whereof  I  speak,  is  my  great  cheer  ; 
Such  power  it  hath  to  renovate  and  raise 
Me  who  was  almost  numbered  with  the  dead  ; 

And  since  by  nature  fire  doth  find  its  sphere 
Soaring  aloft,  and  I  am  all  ablaze, 
Heavenward  with  it  my  flight  must  needs  be  sped. 


67 


LX. 

FIRST   READING. 

LOVE'S  JUSTIFICATION. 

Ben  può  talor  col  mio. 

• 

SOMETIMES  my  love  I  dare  to  entertain 
With  soaring  hope  not  over-credulous  ; 
Since  if  all  human  loves  were  impious, 
Unto  what  end  did  God  the  world  ordain? 

For  loving  thee  what  license  is  more  plain 
Than  that  I  praise  thereby  the  glorious 
Source  of  all  joys  divine,  that  comfort  us 
In  thee,  and  with  chaste  fires  our  soul  sustain  ? 

False  hope  belongs  unto  that  love  alone 

Which  with  declining  beauty  wanes  and  dies, 
And,  like  the  face  it  worships,  fades  away. 

That  hope  is  true  which  the  pure  heart  hath  known, 
Which  alters  not  wiih  time  or  death's  decay, 
Yielding  on  earth  earnest  of  Paradise. 


68 


LX. 

SECOND  RBADIKG. 

LOVE'S   JUSTIFICATION. 
Ben  può  talor  col  casto. 
T  must  be  right  sometimes  to  entertain 


1     Chaste  love  with  hope  not  over-credulous  ; 
Since  if  all  human  loves  were  impious, 
Unto  what  end  did  God  the  world  ordain  ? 

If  I  love  thee  and  bend  beneath  thy  reign, 
*Tis  for  the  sake  of  beauty  glorious 
Which  in  thine  eyes  divine  is  stored  for  us, 
And  drives  all  evil  thought  from  its  domain. 

That  is  not  love  whose  tyranny  we  own 
In  loveliness  that  every  moment  dies  ; 
Which,  like  the  face  it  worships,  fades  away  : 

True  love  is  that  which  the  pure  heart  hath  known, 
Which  alters  not  with  time  or  death's  decay, 
Yielding  on  earth  earnest  of  Paradise. 


I 


69 


LXI. 
IRREPARABLE   LOSS. 

AFTER   THE   DEATH    OF    VITTORIA   COLONNA. 
Se  '1  mie  rozzo  martello. 

WHEN  my  rude  hammer  to  the  stubborn  stone 
Gives  human  shape,  now  that,  now  this,  at  will, 
Following  his  hand  who  wields  and  guides  it  still, 
It  moves  upon  another's  feet  alone  : 

But  that  which  dwells  in  heaven,  the  world  doth  fill 
With  beauty  by  pure  motions  of  its  own  ; 
And  since  tools  fashion  tools  which  else  were  none, 
Its  life  makes  all  that  lives  with  living  skill. 

Now,  for  that  every  stroke  excels  the  more 
The  higher  at  the  forge  it  doth  ascend. 
Her  soul  that  fashioned  mine  hath  sought  the 
skies  : 

Wherefore  unfinished  I  must  meet  my  end, 
If  God,  the  great  Artificer,  denies 
That  aid  which  was  unique  on  earth  before. 


70 


LXII. 
LOVE'S  TRIUMPH  OVER  DEATH. 

AFTER  THE   DEATH    OF   VITTORIA   COLONNA, 
Quand'  el  ministro  de'  sospir. 

WHEN  she  who  was  the  source  of  all  my  sighs, 
Fled  from  the  world,  herself,  my  straining  sight, 
Nature  who  gave  us  that  unique  delight, 
Was  sunk  in  shame,  and  we  had  weeping  eyes. 

Yet  shall  not  vauntful  Death  enjoy  this  prize, 

This  sun  of  suns  which  then  he  veiled  in  night  ; 
For  Love  hath  triumphed,  lifting  up  her  light 
On  earth  and  'mid  the  saints  in  Paradise. 

What  though  remorseless  and  impiteous  doom 

Deemed  that  the  music  of  her  deeds  would  die, 
And  that  her  splendour  would  be  sunk  in  gloom  ? 

The  poet's  page  exalts  her  to  the  sky 

With  life  more  living  in  the  lifeless  tomb. 
And  Death  translates  her  soul  to  reign  on  high. 


71 


LXIII. 
AFTER   SUNSET. 

AFTER  THE   DEATH    OF    VITTORIA   COLONNA. 
Be'  mi  dove'. 

WELL  might  I  in  those  days  so  fortunate, 
What  time  the  sun  lightened  my  path  above, 
Have  soared  from  earth  to  heaven,  raised  by  her 

love 
Who  winged  my  labouring  soul  and  sweetened  fate. 
That  sun  hath  set  ;  and  I  with  hope  elate 

Who  deemed  that  those  bright  days  would  never 

move, 
Find  that  my  thankless  soul,  deprived  thereof, 
Declines  to  death,  while  heaven  still  bars  the  gate. 
Love  lent  me  wings;  my  path  was  like  a  stair; 
A  lamp  unto  my  feet,  that  sun  was  given  ; 
And  death  was  safety  and  great  joy  to  find. 
But  dying  now,  I  shall  not  climb  to  heaven  ; 

Nor  can  mere  memory  cheer  my  heart's  despair  :  — 
What  help  remains  when  hope  is  left  behind  ? 


72 


LXIV. 
A  WASTED  BRAND. 

AFTER    THE    DEATH   OF  VITTORIA    COLONNA. 
Qual  maraviglia  è. 

IF  being  near  the  fire  I  burned  with  it, 
Now  that  its  flame  is  quenched  and  doth  not  show, 
What  wonder  if  I  waste  within  and  glow, 
Dwindling  away  to  cinders  bit  by  bit  ? 

While  still  it  burned,  I  saw  so  brightly  lit 

That  splendour  whence  I  drew  my  grievous  woe, 
That  from  its  sight  alone  could  pleasure  flow. 
And  death  and  torment  both  seemed  exquisite. 

But  now  that  heaven  hath  robbed  me  of  the  blaze 

Of  that  great  fire  which  burned  and  nourished  me, 
A  coal  that  smoulders  'neath  the  ash  am  I. 

Unless  Love  furnish  wood  fresh  flames  to  raise, 
I  shall  expire  with  not  one  spark  to  see, 
So  quickly  into  embers  do  I  die  ! 


73 


LXV. 
ON  THE  BRINK  OF  DEATH. 

TO    GIORGIO   VASARI. 

Giunto  è  già. 

NOW  hath  my  life  across  a  stormy  sea, 
Like  a  frail  bark,  reached  that  wide  port  where  all 

Are  bidden,  ere  the  final  reckoning  fall 

Of  good  and  evil  for  eternity. 
Now  know  I  well  how  that  fond  phantasy 

Which  made  my  soul  the  worshipper  and  thrall 

Of  earthly  art  is  vain  ;  how  criminal 

Is  that  which  all  men  seek  unwillingly. 
Those  amorous  thoughts  which  were  so  lightly  dressed, 

What  are  they  when  the  double  death  is  nigh  ? 

The  one  I  know  for  sure,  the  other  dread. 
Painting  nor  sculpture  now  can  lull  to  rest 

My  soul,  that  turns  to  His  great  love  on  high, 

Whose  arms  to  clasp  us  on  the  cross  were  spreaJ 


I 
74 


LXVI. 
VANITY  OF  VANITIES. 

TO   GIORGIO   VASARI. 
Le  favole  del  mondo. 

THE  fables  of  the  world  have  filched  away 
The  time  I  had  for  thinking  upon  God  ; 
His  grace  lies  buried  'neath  oblivion's  sod, 
Whence  springs  an  evil  crop  of  sins  alway. 

What  makes  another  wise,  leads  me  astray, 
Slow  to  discern  the  bad  path  I  have  trod  : 
Hope  fades,  but  still  desire  ascends  that  God 
May  free  me  from  self-love,  my  sure  decay. 

Shorten  half-way  my  road  to  heaven  from  earth  ! 
Dear  Lord,  I  cannot  even  half-way  rise 
Unless  Thou  help  me  on  this  pilgrimage. 

Teach  me  to  hate  the  world  so  little  worth, 

And  all  the  lovely  things  I  clasp  and  pri/e. 
That  endless  life,  ere  death,  may  be  my  wage. 


75 


LXVII. 
A  PRAYER  FOR  FAITH. 

Non  è  più  bassa. 

There's  not  on  earth  a  thing  more  vile  and  base 
Than,  lacking  Thee,  I  feel  myself  to  be: 
For  pardon  prays  my  own  debility, 
Yearning  in  vain  to  lift  me  to  Thy  face. 

Stretch  to  me,  Lord,  that  chain  whose  links  enlace 
All  heavenly  gifts  and  all  felicity  — 
Faith,  whereunto  I  strive  perpetually, 
Yet  cannot  find  (my  fault)  her  perfect  grace. 

That  gift  of  gifts,  the  rarer  'tis,  the  more 

I  count  it  great  ;  more  great,  because  to  earth 
Without  it  neither  peace  nor  joy  is  given. 

If  Thou  Thy  blood  so  lovingly  didst  pour. 

Let  not  that  bounty  fail  or  suffer  dearth, 
Withholding  Faith  that  opes  the  doors  of  heaven. 


76 


LXVIII. 
URBINO. 

TO    MONSIGNOR   LODOVICO    BECCADELLI. 
Per  croce  e  grazia. 

God's  grace,  the  cross,  our  troubles  multiplied, 
Will  make  us  meet  in  heaven,  full  well  I  know 
Yet  ere  we  yield  our  breath  on  earth  below, 
Why  need  a  little  solace  be  denied  ? 

Though  seas  and  mountains  and  rough  ways  divide 
Our  feet  asunder,  neither  frost  nor  snow 
Can  make  the  soul  her  ancient  love  forego  ; 
Nor  chains  nor  bonds  the  wings  of  thought  have 
tied. 

Borne  by  these  wings,  with  thee  I  dwell  for  aye. 
And  weep,  and  of  my  dead  Urbino  talk, 
Who,  were  he  living,  now  perchance  would  be  — 

For  so  'twas  planned  —  thy  guest  as  well  as  I. 
Warned  by  his  death,  another  way  I  walk 
To  meet  him  where  he  waits  to  live  with  me. 


77 


M' 


LXIX. 
WAITING  FOR  DEATH. 

Di  morte  certo. 

Y  death  must  come;  but  when,  I  do  not  know: 

Life's  short,  and  little  life  remains  for  me  : 
Fain  would  my  flesh  abide  ;  my  soul  would  flee 
Heavenward,  for  still  she  calls  on  me  to  go. 

Blind  is  the  world;  and  evil  here  below 

O'erwhelms  and  triumphs  over  honesty: 

The  light  is  quenched  ;  quenched  too  is  bravery  : 

Lies  reign,  and  truth  hath  ceased  her  face  to  show. 

When  will  that  day  dawn,  Lord,  for  which  he  waits 
Who  trusts  in  Thee  ?     Lo,  this  prolonged  delay 
Destroys  all  hope  and  robs  the  soul  of  life. 

Why  streams  the  light  from  those  celestial  gates, 
If  death  prevent  the  day  of  grace,  and  stay 
Our  souls  for  ever  in  the  toils  of  strife  ? 


4 

I 

I 


78 


LXX. 

A  PRAYER  FOR  STRENGTH. 
Carico  d'  aonL 

BURDENED  with  years  and  full  of  sinfulness, 
With  evil  custom  grown  inveterate, 
Both  deaths  I  dread  that  close  before  me  wait. 
Yet  feed  my  heart  on  poisonous  thoughts  no  less. 

No  strength  I  find  in  mine  own  feebleness 
To  change  or  life  or  love  or  use  or  fate. 
Unless  Thy  heavenly  guidance  come,  though  late. 
Which  only  helps  and  stays  our  nothingness. 

'Tis  not  enough,  dear  Lord,  to  make  me  yearn 
For  that  celestial  home,  where  yet  my  soul 
May  be  new  made,  and  not,  as  erst,  of  nought  : 

Nay,  ere  Thou  strip  her  mortal  vestment,  turn 
My  steps  toward  the  steep  ascent,  that  whole 
And  pure  before  Thy  face  she  may  be  brought. 


79 


LXXI. 

A  PRAYER  FOR  PURIFICATION. 

Forse  perchè  d'  altrui. 

PERCHANCE  that  I  might  learn  what  pity  is, 
That  I  might  laugh  at  erring  men  no  more, 
Secure  in  my  own  strength  as  heretofore, 
My  soul  hath  fallen  from  her  state  of  bliss  : 

Nor  know  I  under  any  flag  but  this 

How  fighting  I  may  'scape  those  perils  sore. 
Or  how  survive  the  rout  and  horrid  roar 
Of  adverse  hosts,  if  I  Thy  succour  miss. 

O  flesh  1     O  blood  !     O  cross  !     O  pain  extreme  ! 
By  you  may  those  foul  sins  be  purified, 
Wherein  my  fathers  were,  and  I  was  born  1 

Lo,  Thou  alone  art  good  :  let  Thy  supreme 
Pity  my  state  of  evil  cleanse  and  hide  — 
So  near  to  death,  so  far  from  God,  forlorn. 


80 


LXXII. 

A  PRAYER  FOR  AID. 

Deh  fammiti  vedere. 

OH,  make  me  see  Thee,  Lord,  where'er  I  gol 
If  mortal  beauty  sets  my  soul  on  fire, 
That  flame  when  near  to  Thine  must  needs  expire, 
And  I  with  love  of  only  Thee  shall  glow. 

Dear  Lord,  Thy  help  I  seek  against  this  woe, 
These  torments  that  my  spirit  vex  and  tire  ; 
Thou  only  with  new  strength  canst  re-inspire 
My  will,  my  sense,  my  courage  faint  and  low. 

Thou  gavest  me  on  earth  this  soul  divine  ; 

And  Thou  within  this  body  weak  and  frail 
Didst  prison  it  —  how  sadly  there  to  live  I 

How  can  I  make  its  lot  less  vile  than  mine  ? 

Without  Thee,  Lord,  all  goodness  seems  to  fail. 
To  alter  fate  is  God's  prerogative. 


i 


8i 


LXXIII. 
AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  CROSS. 

Scarce  d'  un'  ùnportuna. 

FREED  from  a  burden  sore  and  grievous  band, 
Dear  Lord,  and  from  this  wearying  world  untied, 
Like  a  frail  bark  I  turn  me  to  Thy  side, 
As  from  a  fierce  storm  to  a  tranquil  land. 

Thy  thorns.  Thy  nails,  and  either  bleeding  hand, 
With  Thy  mild  gentle  piteous  face,  provide 
Promise  of  help  and  mercies  multiplied, 
And  hope  that  yet  my  soul  secure  may  stand. 

Let  not  Thy  holy  eyes  be  just  to  see 

My  evil  past,  Thy  chastened  ears  to  hear 
And  stretch  the  arm  of  judgment  to  my  crime  : 

Let  Thy  blood  only  lave  and  succour  me, 

Yielding  more  perfect  pardon,  better  cheer. 
As  older  still  I  grow  with  lengthening  time. 


82 


> 


w 


LXXIV. 

FIRST  READING, 

A  PRAYER  FOR  GRACE  IN  DEATH. 

S'  avvien  che  spesso. 
HAT  though  Strong  love  of  life  doth  flatter  me 


With  hope  of  yet  more  years  on  earth  to  stay, 
Death  none  the  less  draws  nearer  day  by  day, 
Who  to  sad  souls  alone  comes  lingeringly. 

Yet  why  desire  long  life  and  jollity, 

If  in  our  griefs  alone  to  God  we  pray  ? 

Glad  fortune,  length  of  days,  and  pleasure  slay 

The  soul  that  trusts  to  their  felicity. 

Then  if  at  any  hour  through  grace  divine 

The  fiery  shafts  of  love  and  faith  that  cheer 
And  fortify  the  soul,  my  heart  assail, 

Since  nought  achieve  these  mortal  powers  of  mine. 
Straight  may  I  wing  my  way  to  heaven  ;  for  here 
With  lengthening  days  good  thoughts  and  wishes 
faU. 


83 


LXXIV. 

SECOND  READING. 

A  PRAYER  FOR  GRACE  IN  DEATH. 

Panni  che  spesso, 

OFTTIMES  my  great  desire  doth  flatter  me 
With  hope  on  earth  yet  many  years  to  stay  : 
Still  Death,  the  more  I  love  it,  day  by  day 
Takes  from  the  life  I  love  so  tenderly. 

What  better  time  for  that  dread  change  could  be, 
If  in  our  griefs  alone  to  God  we  pray  ? 
Oh,  lead  me,  Lord,  oh,  lead  me  far  away 
From  every  thought  that  lures  my  soul  from  Thee  I 

Yea,  if  at  any  hour,  through  grace  of  Thine, 

The  fervent  zeal  of  love  and  faith  that  cheer 
And  fortify  the  soul,  my  heart  assail. 

Since  nought  achieve  these  mortal  powers  of  mine, 
Plant,  like  a  saint  in  heaven,  that  virtue  here  ; 
For,  lacking  Thee,  all  good  must  faint  and  fail. 


» 


F 


LXXV. 
HEART -COLDNESS. 
Vorrei  voler,  Signior. 
AiN  would  I  wish  what  my  heart  cannot  will: 


Between  it  and  the  fire  a  veil  of  ice 
Deadens  the  fire,  so  that  I  deal  in  lies  ; 
My  words  and  actions  are  discordant  still. 

I  love  Thee  with  my  tongue,  then  mourn  ray  fill  ; 
For  love  warms  not  my  heart,  nor  can  I  rise, 
Or  ope  the  doors  of  Grace,  who  from  the  skies 
Might  flood  my  soul,  and  pride  and  passion  kill. 

Rend  Thou  the  veil,  dear  Lord  1     Break  Thou  that  wall 
Which  with  its  stubbornness  retards  the  rays 
Of  that  bright  sun  this  earth  hath  dulled  for  me  1 

Send  down  Thy  promised  light  to  cheer  and  fall 

On  Thy  fair  spouse,  that  I  with  love  may  blaze, 
And,  free  from  doubt,  my  heart  feel  only  Thee! 


8S 


LXXVI. 

THE  DEATH  OF  CHRIST. 

Non  hir  men  lieti. 

NOT  less  elate  than  smitten  with  wild  woe 
To  see  not  them  but  Thee  by  death  undone, 
Were  those  blest  souls,  when  Thou  above  the  sun 
Didst  raise,  by  dying,  men  that  lay  so  low  : 
Elate,  since  freedom  from  all  ills  that  flow 

From  their  first  fault  for  Adam's  race  was  won  ; 
Sore  smitten,  since  in  torment  fierce  God's  son 
Served  servants  on  the  cruel  cross  below. 
Heaven  showed  she  knew  Thee,  who  thou  wert  and 
whence, 
Veiling  her  eyes  above  the  riven  earth  ; 
The  mountains  trembled  and  the  seas  were 
troubled. 
He  took  the  Fathers  from  hell's  darkness  dense  : 
The  torments  of  the  damned  fiends  redoubled  : 
Man  only  joyed,  who  gained  baptismal  birth. 


86 


LXXVII. 

THE  BLOOD  OF  CHRIST. 

Mentre  m'  attrista. 

MID  weariness  and  woe  I  find  some  cheer 
In  thinking  of  the  past  when  I  recall 
My  weakness  and  my  sins,  and  reckon  all 
The  vain  expense  of  days  that  disappear: 

This  cheers  by  making,  ere  I  die,  more  clear 
The  frailty  of  what  men  delight  miscall  ; 
But  saddens  me  to  think  how  rarely  fall 
God's  grace  and  mercies  in  life's  latest  year. 

For  though  Thy  promises  our  faith  compel, 

Yet,  Lord,  what  man  shall  venture  to  maintain 
That  pity  will  condone  our  long  neglect  ? 

Still  from  Thy  blood  poured  forth  we  know  full  well 
How  without  measure  was  Thy  martyr's  pain, 
How  measureless  the  gifts  we  dare  expect. 


87 


NOTES 


NOTES. 

I.  Quoted  by  Donato  Giannotti  in  his  Dialogue  D^ 
giorni  che  Dante  constimò  ml  cercare  l'Inferno  e  '/  Purga- 
torio.   The  date  of  its  composition  is  perhaps  1545, 

II.  Written  probably  for  Donato  Giannotti  about  the 
same  date. 

III.  Belonging  to  the  year  1506,  when  Michael  Angelo 
quarrelled  with  Julius  and  left  Rome  in  anger.  The  tree 
referred  to  in  the  last  line  is  the  oak  of  the  Rovere  family. 

IV.  Same  date,  and  same  circumstances.  The  auto- 
graph has  these  words  at  the  foot  of  the  sonnet:  Vostro 
Miccelangniolo,  in  Turchia.  Rome  itself,  the  Sacred  City, 
has  become  a  land  of  infidels. 

V.  Ser  Giovanni  da  Pistoja  was  Chancellor  of  the  Flor- 
entine Academy.  The  date  is  probably  1509.  The  Sonetto 
a  Coda  is  generally  humorous  or  satiric. 

VI.  Written  in  one  of  those  moments  of  affanno  or 
stizza  to  which  the  sculptor  was  subject.  For  the  old 
bitterness  of  feeling  between  Florence  and  Pistoja,  see 
Dante,  Inferno,  xxiv.,  xxv. 

VII.  Michael  Angelo  was  ill  during  the  summer  of 
1 544,  and  was  nursed  by  Luigi  del  Riccio  in  his  own  house. 
Shortly  after  his  recovery  he  quarrelled  wth  his  friend,  and 
wrote  him  this  sonnet  as  well  as  a  very  angry  letter. 

VIII.  Cecchino  Bracci  was  a  boy  of  rare  and  surpassing 
beauty  who  died  at  Rome,  January  8,  1544,  in  his  seven- 
teenth year.  Besides  this  sonnet,  which  refers  to  a  portrait 
Luigi  del  Riccio  had  asked  him  to  make  of  the  dead  youth. 


Michael  Angelo  composed  a  series  of  forty-eight  quatrains 
upon  the  same  subject,  and  sent  them  to  his  friend  Luigi. 
Michelangelo  the  younger,  thinking  that  '/'  ignoranzia 
degli  tiomini  ha  campo  di  mormorare^  suppressed  the 
name  Ceccliino  and  changed  lui  mto  lei.     Date  about  1544. 

IX.  Line  4:  '  Ihe  Archangel's  scales  alone  can  weigh 
my  gratitude  against  your  gut'  Lines  5-8:  'Your  courtesy 
has  taken  away  all  my  power  of  responding  to  it.  1  am  as 
helpless  as  a  ship  becalmed,  or  a  wisp  of  straw  on  a  stormy 
sea.' 

X.  Michael  Angelo,  when  asked  to  make  a  portrait  of 
his  friend's  mistress,  declares  that  he  is  unable  to  do  justice 
to  her  beauty.  The  name  Mancina  is  a  pun  upon  the 
Italian  word  for  the  left  arm,  Afancino.  This  lady  was  a 
famous  and  venal  beauty,  mentioned  among  the  loves  of 
the  poet  Molsa. 

XI.  Date,  1550. 

XII.  This  and  the  three  next  sonnets  may  with  tolerable 
certainty  be  referred  to  the  series  written  on  various 
occasions  for  Vittona  Colonna. 

XI I I.  Sent  together  with  a  letter,  in  which  we  read: 
/'  aportatore  di  questa  sarà  Urbino,  che  sta  meco.  Urbino 
was  M.  A.'s  old  servant,  workman,  and  friend.  See  No. 
LXVIII.  and  note. 

XIV.  The  thought  is  that,  as  the  sculptor  carves  a 
statue  from  a  rough  model  by  addition  and  subtraction  of 
the  marble,  so  the  lady  of  his  heart  refines  and  perfects  his 
rude  native  character. 

XV.  This  sonnet  is  the  theme  of  Varchi's  Lezione. 
There  is  nothing  to  prove  that  it  was  addressed  to  Vittoria 
Colonna.  Varchi  calls  it  '  un  suo  aliissitno  sonetto  pieno  di 
quella  antica  purezza  e  dantesca  gravità? 

XVI.  The  thought  of  the  fifteenth  is  repeated  with 
some  variations.  His  lady's  heart  holds  for  the  lover  good 
and  evil  things,  according  as  he  has  the  art  to  draw  them 
forth. 

XVIII.  In  the  terzets  he  describes  the  temptations  of 
the  artist-nature,  over-sensitive  to  beauty.    Michelangelo 


92 


NOTES 

the  younger  so  altered  these  six  lines  as  to  destroy  the 
autobiographical  allusion.  —  Cp.  No.  XXVI 1 1.,  note. 

XIX.  The  lover's  heart  is  like  an  intaglio,  precious  by 
being  inscribed  with  his  lady's  image. 

XX.  An  early  composition,  written  on  the  back  of  a 
letter  sent  to  the  sculptor  in  Bologna  by  his  brother  Simone 
in  1507.  M.  A.  was  then  working  at  the  bronze  statue  of 
Julius  TI.  Who  the  lady  of  his  love  was,  we  do  not  know. 
Notice  the  absence  of  Platonic  concetti. 

XXIII.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  call  attention  to 
Michael  Angelo's  oft-recurring  Platonism.  The  thought 
that  the  eye  alone  perceives  the  celestial  beauty,  veiled 
beneath  the  fleshly  form  of  the  beloved,  is  repeated  in 
many  sonnets  —  especially  in  XXV.,  XXVIII. 

XXIV.  Composed  probably  in  the  year  1529. 

XXV.  Written  on  the  same  sheet  as  the  foregoing 
sonnet,  and  composed  probably  in  the  same  year.  The 
thought  is  this:  beauty  passing  from  the  lady  into  the 
lover's  soul,  is  there  spiritualised  and  becomes  the  object  of 
a  spiritual  love. 

XXVII.  To  escape  from  his  lady,  either  by  interposing 
another  image  of  beauty  between  the  thought  of  her  and 
his  heart,  or  by  flight,  is  impossible. 

XXVIII.  Compare  Madrigal  VII  in  illustration  of  lines 
S  to  8.  By  the  analogy  of  that  passage,  I  should  venture 
to  render  lines  6  and  7  thus: 

He  made  thee  light,  and  me  the  eyes  of  art; 
Nor  fails  my  soul  to  find  God's  counterpart. 

XXX.  Varchi,  quoting  this  sonnet  in  his  Lezioru,  con- 
jectures that  it  was  composed  for  Tommaso  Cavalieri. 

XXXI.  Varchi  asserts  without  qualification  that  this 
sonnet  was  addressed  to  Tommaso  Cavalieri.  The  pun  in 
the  last  line,  Resto prigion  d''  un  Cavalier  armato,  seems  to 
me  to  decide  the  matter,  though  Signor  Guasti  and  Signor 
Gotti  both  will  have  it  that  a  woman  must  have  been 
intended.  Michelangelo  the  younger  has  only  left  one  line, 
the  second,  untouched  in  his  rifacitntnto.    Instead  of  the 


93 


NOTES 

last  words  he  gives  im  cuor  di  virtù  armato,  being  over- 
scrupuloxis  for  his  great-uncle's  reputation. 

XXXII.  Written  at  the  foot  of  a  letter  addressed  by 
Giuliano  Bugiardini  the  painter,  from  Florence,  to  M.  A.  in 
Rome,  August  5,  1532.  This  then  is  probably  the  date  of 
the  composition. 

XXXIV.  The  metaphor  of  fire,  flint,  and  mortar  breaks 
down  in  the  last  line,  where  M.  A.  forgets  that  gold  cannot 
strike  a  spark  from  stone. 

XXXV.  Line  9  has  the  word  Signor.  It  is  almost 
certain  that  where  M.  A.  uses  this  word  without  further 
qualification  in  a  love  sonnet,  he  means  his  mistress.  I 
have  sometimes  translated  it  'heart's  lord'  or  'loved  lord,' 
because  I  did  not  wish  to  merge  the  quaintness  of  this 
ancient  Tuscan  usage  in  the  more  commonplace  '  lady.' 

XXXVI.  Line  3  :  the  lord,  etc.  This  again  is  the  poet's 
mistress.  The  drift  of  the  sonnet  is  this:  his  soul  can  find 
no  expression  but  through  speech,  and  speech  is  too  gross 
to  utter  the  purity  of  his  feeling.  His  mistress  again 
receives  his  tongue's  message  with  her  ears;  and  thus  there 
is  an  element  of  sensuality,  false  and  alien  to  his  intention, 
both  in  his  complaint  and  in  her  acceptation  of  it  The 
last  line  is  a  version  of  the  proverb:  chi  è  avvezzo  a  dir 
bugie,  non  crede  a  nessuno. 

XXXVl  I.  At  the  foot  of  the  sonnet  is  written  Mandato. 
The  two  last  lines  play  on  the  words  signor  and  signoria. 
To  whom  it  was  sent  we  do  not  know  for  certain;  but  we 
may  conjecture  Vittoria  Colonna. 

XXXIX.  The  paper  on  which  this  sonnet  is  written 
has  a  memorandum  with  the  date  January  6,  1529.  'On 
my  return  from  Venice,  I,  Micheiagniolo  Buonarroti,  found 
in  the  house  about  five  loads  of  straw,'  etc.  It  belongs 
therefore  to  the  period  of  the  siege  of  Florence,  when  M. 
A.,  as  is  well  known,  fled  for  a  short  space  to  Venice.  In 
line  12,  I  have  translated  il  mie  signiore,  my  lady. 

XL.  No  sonnet  in  the  whole  collection  seems  to  have 
cost  M.  A.  so  much  trouble  as  this.  Besides  the  two  com- 
pleted versions,  which  I  have  rendered,  tliere  are  several 


94 


NOTES 

scores  of  rejected  or  various  readings  for  single  lines  in 
the  MSS.  The  Platonic  doctrine  of  Anamnesis  probably 
supplies  the  key  to  the  thought  which  the  poet  attempted 
to  work  out. 

XLI.,  XLIl.,  XLIII.,  XLIV.  There  is  nothing  to 
prove  that  these  four  sonnets  on  Night  were  composed  in 
sequence.  On  the  contrary  the  personal  tone  of  XLI. 
seems  to  separate  this  from  the  other  three.  XLIV.  may 
be  accepted  as  a  palinode  for  XLIII. 

XLV.,  XLVI.  Both  sonnets  deal  half  humorously  with 
a  thought  very  prominent  in  M.  A.'s  compositions — the 
effect  of  love  on  one  who  is  old  in  years.  —  Cp.  XLVIII.,  L. 

XLVI  I.  The  Platonic  conception  that  the  pure  form  of 
Beauty  or  of  Truth,  if  seen,  would  be  overwhelming  in  its 
brilliancy. 

XL  IX.  The  dolcie  pianto  and  etema  pace  are  the  tears 
and  peace  of  piety.  The  doloroso  riso  and  corta  pace  are 
the  smiles  and  happiness  of  earthly  love. 

LI  I.  Here  is  another  version  of  this  very  beautifvd 
•onnet  : 

No  mortal  thing  enthralled  these  longing  eyes 
When  perfect  peace  in  thy  fair  face  I  found  ; 
But  far  within,  where  all  is  holy  ground, 
My  soul  felt  Love,  her  comrade  of  the  skies  : 

For  she  was  bom  with  God  in  Paradise  ; 

Nor  all  the  shows  of  beauty  shed  around 

This  fair  false  world  her  wings  to  earth  have  bound  ; 

Unto  the  Love  of  Loves  aloft  she  flies. 

Nay,  things  that  suffer  death,  quench  not  the  fire 
Of  deathless  spirits  ;  nor  eternity 

Serves  sordid  Time,  that  withers  all  things  rare. 

Not  love  but  lawless  impulse  is  desire  : 

That  slays  the  soul  ;  our  love  makes  still  more  fair 
Our  friends  on  earth,  fairer  in  death  on  high. 

LUI.  This  is  the  doctrine  of  the  Symposium  ;  the  scorn 
of  merely  sexual  love  is  also  Platonic. 


95 


NOTES 

LIV.  Another  sonnet  on  the  theme  of  the  Uranian  as 
distinguished  from  the  Vulgar  love.  See  below,  LVI.,  for 
a  parallel  to  the  second  terzet. 

LV.  The  date  may  be  1532.  The  play  on  words  in  the 
first  quatrain  and  the  first  terzet  is  Shakespearian. 

LIX.  Two  notes,  appended  to  the  two  autographs  of 
this  sonnet,  show  that  M.  A.  regarded  it  as  ay«/  d^esprit. 
'  Per  carmrvale  par  lecito  far  qualche  pazzia  a  chi  non  va 
in  mascherai  '  Questo  ?ton  è  fuoco  da  carnovale,  però  vel 
mando  di  quaresima  ;  e  a  voi  mi  rachomando.  Vostro 
Michelagniolo? 

LXI.  Date  1547.  No  sonnet  presents  more  diflSculties 
than  this,  in  which  M.  A.  has  availed  himself  of  a  passage 
in  the  Cratylus  of  Plato.  The  divine  hammer  spoken  of  in 
the  second  couplet  is  the  ideal  pattern  after  which  the  souls 
of  men  are  fashioned;  and  this  in  the  first  terzet  seems  to 
be  identified  with  Vittoria  Colonna.  In  the  second  terzet 
he  regards  his  own  soul  as  imperfect,  lacking  the  final 
touches  which  it  might  have  received  from  hers.  See  XIV. 
for  a  somewhat  similar  conceit 

LXIV.  The  image  is  that  of  a  glowing  wood  coal 
smouldering  away  to  embers  amid  its  own  ashes. 

LXV.  Date  1554.  Addressed  A  messer  Giorgio  Vasari, 
amico  e  pittor  singulare,  with  this  letter  :  Messer  Giorgio, 
amico  caro,  voi  direte  ben  cA'  io  sie  vecchio  e  pazzo  a  voler 
far  sonetti;  ma  perchè  molti  dicono  eh'  io  son  ritnòamòito, 
ho  voluto  far  l'ujìcio  mio,ec.  A  dì  19  di  settembre  1554. 
Vostro  Michelagniolo  Buotiarroti  in  Roma. 

LXVI.,  LXV  II.  These  two  sonnets  were  sent  to  Giorgio 
Vasari  in  1555  (?)  with  this  letter:  Messer  Giorgio,  io  vi 
mando  dua  soiutti;  e  benché  sieno  cosa  sciocca,  il fo  perchè 
veggiaie  dove  io  ttngo  i  mie'  pensieri:  e  quando  arete 
ottantuno  anni,  come  ò  io,  mi  crederete.  Pregovi  gli  diate 
a  messer  Giovan  Fra/icesco  Fatucci,  che  me  ne  a  chiesti. 
Vostro  Michelagniolo  Buonarroti  in  Roma.  The  first  was 
also  sent  to  Monsignor  Beccadelli,  Archbishop  of  Ragusa, 
who  replied  to  it.  For  his  sonnet,  see  Signor  Guasti's 
edition,  p.  333. 

96 


NOTES 

LXVIIl.  Date  1556.  Written  in  reply  to  his  friend's 
invitation  that  he  should  pay  him  a  visit  at  Ragusa.  Line 
10;  this  Urbino  was  M.  A.'s  old  and  faithful  servant, 
Francesco  d'Amadore  di  Casteldurante,  who  lived  with  him 
twenty-six  years,  and  died  at  Rome  in  1556. 

LXIX.-LXXVII.  The  dates  of  this  series  of  penitential 
sonnets  are  not  known.  It  is  clear  that  they  were  written 
in  old  age.  It  will  be  remembered  that  the  latest  piece  of 
marble  on  which  Michael  Angelo  worked,  was  the  unfin- 
ished Pietà  now  standing  behind  the  choir  of  the  Duomo  at 
Florence.  Many  of  his  latest  drawings  are  designs  for  a 
Crucifixion. 


APPENDICES 


APPENDICES. 


I. 

The  'Rivista  Europea'  of  June  1875  publishes  an  article 
by  Signor  V.  de  Tivoli  concerning  an  inedited  sonnet  of 
Michael  Angelo,  which  he  deciphered  from  the  Autograph, 
written  upon  the  back  of  one  of  the  original  drawings  in 
the  Taylor  Gallery  at  Oxford.  This  drawing  formed  part 
of  the  Ottley  and  Lawrence  Collection.  It  represents 
horses  in  various  attitudes,  together  with  a  skirmish 
between  a  mounted  soldier  and  a  group  of  men  on  foot. 
Signor  de  Tivoli  not  only  prints  the  text  with  all  its  ortho- 
graphical confusions,  abbreviations,  and  alterations  ;  but  he 
also  adds  what  he  modestly  terms  a  restoration  of  the 
sonnet.  Of  this  restoration  I  have  made  the  subjoined 
version  in  rhyme,  though  I  frankly  admit  that  the  difficul- 
ties of  the  text,  as  given  in  the  rough  by  Signor  de  Tivoli, 
seem  to  me  insuperable,  and  that  his  readings,  though 
ingenious,  cannot  in  my  opinion  be  accepted  as  absolutely 
certain.  He  himself  describes  the  MS.  as  a  palimpsest, 
deliberately  defaced  by  Michael  Angelo,  from  which  the 
words  originally  written  have  to  be  recovered  in  many 
cases  by  a  process  of  conjecture.  That  the  style  of  the 
restoration  is  thoroughly  Michael  Angelesque,  will  be 
admitted  by  all  students  of  Signor  Guasti's  edition.  The 
only  word  I  felt  inclined  to  question,  is  donne  in  Ime  13, 
where  I  should  have  expected  donna.  But  I  am  informed 
that  about  this  word  there  is  no  doubt.    The  sonnet  itself 


APPENDICES 

ranks  among  the  less  interesting  and  the  least  finished 
compositions  of  the  poet's  old  age. 

Thrice  blest  was  I  what  time  thy  piercing  dart 
1  could  withstand  and  conquer  in  days  past: 
But  now  my  breast  with  grief  is  overcast; 
Against  my  will  I  weep,  and  suffer  smart. 

And  if  those  shafts,  aimed  with  so  fierce  an  art, 
The  mark  of  my  frail  bosom  over-passed. 
Now  canst  thou  take  revenge  with  blows  at  last 
From  those  fair  eyes  which  must  consume  my  heart. 

O  Love,  how  many  a  net,  how  many  a  snare 

Shuns  through  long  years  the  bird  by  fate  malign, 
Only  at  last  to  die  more  piteously  I 

Thus  love  hath  let  me  run  as  free  as  air. 

Ladies,  through  many  a  year,  to  make  me  pine 
In  sad  old  age,  and  a  worse  death  to  die. 


IL 


The  following  translations  of  a  madrigal,  a  quatrain,  and 
a  stanza  by  Michael  Angelo,  may  be  worth  insertion  here 
for  the  additional  light  they  throw  upon  some  of  the  pre- 
ceding sonnets  —  especially  upon  Sonnets  L  and  IL  and 
Sonnet  LXV.-LXXVII.  In  my  version  of  the  stanza  I 
have  followed  Michelangelo  the  younger's  readings. 

DIALOGUE  OF  FLORENCE  AND  HER  EXILES. 

Per  molti,  donna. 

'  Lady,  for  joy  of  lovers  numberless 

Thou  wast  created  fair  as  angels  are. 

Sure  God  hath  fallen  asleep  in  heav«n  afar, 

When  one  man  calls  the  bliss  of  many  his  ! 

Give  back  to  streaming  eyes 

The  daylight  of  thy  face  that  seems  to  shun 

Those  who  must  live  defrauded  of  their  bliss  !  * 


APPENDICES 

'  Vex  not  your  pure  desire  with  tears  and  sighs  : 
For  he  who  robs  you  of  my  Itght,  hath  none. 
Dwelling  in  fear,  sm  hath  no  happiness; 
Since  amid  those  who  love,  their  joy  is  less, 
Whose  great  desire  great  plenty  still  curtails, 
Than  theirs  who,  poor,  have  hope  that  never  fails.' 

THE  SPEECH  OF  NIGHT. 

Caro  m'  è  '1  sonno. 

Sweet  is  my  sleep,  but  more  to  be  mere  stone, 
So  long  as  ruin  and  dishonour  reign  ; 
To  bear  nought,  to  feel  nought,  is  my  great  gain  ; 
Then  wake  me  not,  speak  in  an  undertone  ! 

LAMENT  FOR  LIFE  WASTED. 

Ohimè,  ohimè  I 

Ah  me  I  Ah  me  !  whene'er  I  think 

Of  my  past  years,  I  find  that  none 

Among  those  many  years,  alas,  was  mine  ; 

False  hopes  and  longings  vain  have  made  me  pine, 

With  tears,  sighs,  passions,  fires,  upon  life's  brink. 

Of  mortal  loves  I  have  known  every  one. 

Full  well  I  feel  it  now  ;  lost  and  undone. 

From  truth  and  goodness  banished  far  away, 

I  dwindle  day  by  day. 

Longer  the  shade,  more  short  the  sunbeams  grow; 

While  I  am  near  to  falling,  faint  and  low. 

FINIS. 


PRINTED  BY 

SMITH  fir  S/ILE 

PORTLAND 

MAINE 


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